Yours Forever
by oiseaus
Summary: AU from the beginning, this explores how Matthew & Mary's relationship would have evolved if they had met under very different circumstances, spanning several years. Chapter 14 is up!
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This is an idea I came up with a few months ago, but I never thought it would really work, so I didn't publish it. With some mega-encouragement I've decided to post this first chapter of it to see what people think of the story. Yes, it's horribly AU, but some people like that, so I've decided to give it a go! It's a complete departure from anything I've ever written, which is a big challenge._

**Yours Forever: Chapter I**

January, 1903

Families are complicated. They are messy, never whole. They contain a world within them: a microcosm of love and hate, real and fake, life and death, truth and deception, happiness and sorrow. But we cannot escape them. We are born into one, live in one, and, eventually, leave one. No family is simple. No life is simple. Nothing is as it appears on the outside.

To Robert Crawley, his family was everything. His estate, his wife, and his children, were the world to him. He would dedicate his life to them all, so it was with a heavy heart that he set down the letter he had just received and ran a hand over his troubled brow.

So, his cousin was dead. He hadn't known the man well, only familiar with him from the occasional Christmas or garden party. No, he hadn't known him well at all. He remembered Reginald Crawley as an intelligent man. A doctor, that was it. And now he was gone, leaving a wife and son behind. Lord Grantham couldn't recall ever having met his wife, Isobel, as the letter said, but knew something of the boy. Reginald must have mentioned him in passing, but he couldn't be sure. Of course, it was a distant relation, and that would make the boy, Matthew, what, a third cousin? Whatever the case, the Earl of Grantham had to do something. Family was always put before anything else, and these two, however distantly connected to them all, were his family. He would help them, as the letter suggested.

The widow, it appeared, had already lost both her parents, and after the untimely death of her husband was left with relatively no family whatsoever. Robert looked up from his desk, his gaze going out the window and towards the bottom of the large, sloping hill where Crawley House stood. He had at least _something_ to give them. And it would make him feel far better about the situation than sending money periodically. Of course, he couldn't expect them to uproot their life and make a new one here, to be sure. But it was one solution to the problem outlined by their lawyer.

And so he took out a fresh sheet of paper and inhaled deeply before putting pen to it and writing to Mrs. Crawley.

* * *

June, 1903

They were all mildly surprised that Isobel Crawley had accepted the offer. It was, to say the least, unconventional. But, knowing that the money left to her by her late husband would not last long, and with the generous and completely unexpected offer by Lord Grantham, a man of no relation to her other than marriage, Isobel Crawley realized that however unconventional the arrangement might be, it was her best option.

So she had packed up their house in Manchester. There wasn't much, their life had been relatively simple and quaint. Mrs. Crawley only discovered how simple that life really had been once she was presented with Crawley House. She had expected much less. After all, the Earl's letter had been almost apologetic in tone. _'Just a small house on the estate. I only wish I could give more…' _Well, this was _certainly _more! It had taken all of three hours to move in, and a note had come down from 'the Big House', as their new bumbling butler had called it, in Lord Grantham's hand, apologizing that he was unable to welcome them himself, but urging them to join their new family at dinner that very evening.

Isobel had been watching Matthew. She worried for him, so. He had wordlessly packed up his room, slept on the train, and was now, she supposed, still sitting on his new bed as she had left him. Usually such a happy, delightful boy, he had quieted with the sudden death of his father. The pain came in waves, she knew it did for her. Some moments he seemed to forget: when he told his mother about his day at school, or when she read something amusing from the paper and he laughed. But then it would return: his eyes would notice the closed door of his father's study, and Matthew would realize with a lurch that unlike other nights, his father was not behind it, and he could not barge in and sit across from him as he worked.

Maybe this would be good for him, Isobel thought to herself. Maybe he needed a change. New people, new friends, a new home. She comforted herself with these thoughts, but was painfully aware at the same time how hard it was for the boy. At eleven, he was just becoming a man, and was now left with no father to guide him. She was vaguely aware that Lord Grantham had children. Two, she remembered. And she fervently wished that they would welcome Matthew into their home and be friends to him in this dark hour.

* * *

If Crawley House had made her aware of her upper middle class background, Downton Abbey crashed over Isobel Crawley like a tidal wave. Everything was grand, gleaming, shiny, ancient, stately, and _beautiful_. "It's like a castle!" Matthew had whispered before they were led in, and she had agreed wholeheartedly with him. The very air felt different. Isobel felt herself stand up straighter as the first glimpse of the family came towards them. This, she assumed rightly, must be Lord Grantham, the one who held out his hand and warmly took hers.

"We're so very glad to have you here." he said in a low, welcoming voice before turning to Matthew and shaking his hand in turn.

"This is my wife, and mother, " he continued on, and Isobel greeted his American wife and very English mother with what she hoped was as much grace as they possessed.

"We can go in the drawing room until dinner is served, if you'll follow me." Lord Grantham said in that same warm tone, and led the way to another grand room. Isobel couldn't help looking around her in awe as they passed vases full of glorious flower arrangements and century old portraits. It was almost too much.

Not knowing quite what to do in such an unbalanced, adult party, Matthew moved to sit awkwardly beside his mother as she took a seat next to Lady Grantham on an elegantly carved sofa, but was surprised when the Earl tapped him on the shoulder and mentioned that he'd like to show Matthew something.

The boy followed him willingly, not knowing what else to do, feeling slightly vulnerable all of a sudden without his mother beside him. Now she was the only remaining link to his previous life.

"If you look here, you can see the whole estate." Lord Grantham said, pulling the leather cover off a large atlas-like book and revealing the industrial drawings of Downton itself from an aerial view, motioning for Matthew to come closer and take a look at them. Matthew found himself intrigued by the drawings, and plucked up the courage to ask about several smaller buildings lying along the outskirts of the grounds, which turned out to be cottages rented out to tenants.

"Does architecture interest you?" Lord Grantham asked with curiosity, turning his attention from the drawings to the boy himself, whom he found to be serious yet eager in disposition.

"Yes," Matthew admitted, looking back at the drawings, "but I prefer the law." His eyes finally met the Earl's, and Robert realized how blue they were. So, he had the Crawley eyes.

"The law!" he responded in surprise. "That's quite ambitious! Remind me, and I'll show you the library, there might be some books there that'll interest you."

"Thank you." Matthew said, slowly becoming aware of the fact that this Earl wasn't quite as intimidating as he had appeared at first glance. He heard his mother striking up conversation with Lady Grantham at the other end of the room and was just about to turn back to his companion when Lady Grantham's American accent sprung up.

"Ah, there you are!" she exclaimed, and Robert put a hand on Matthew's shoulder.

"Ah, these are my children," he explained, and motioned for them to draw nearer while walking forward with Matthew. "Henry and Mary."

Henry looked quite like his father, with dark hair and blue eyes, and bore a friendly expression, immediately holding out a hand to Matthew and shaking it jovially. Mary smiled prettily and curtsied as she had been schooled to do, trilling out a welcome of her own. Lord Grantham, sensing that they would get on better together if he were to remove himself, made an exit and returned to the adults. Cora looked relatively pleased with Isobel, and even his mother had managed to show an outward expression of liking the woman, so it was with a sense of calm and accomplishment that Robert took his seat and joined in the conversation.

* * *

"I'm fourteen, and Mary'll be eleven in two weeks." Henry explained in a relaxed manner. "How old are you?"

"Almost twelve." Matthew said, proud of the fact. His eyes moved to Mary, who was looking him over with her careful dark ones. There was something about her, something captivating that Matthew couldn't quite put his finger on, but then the chocolate eyes traveled back up to his face, seemingly satisfied in their appraisal, and she spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Papa says we're to treat you just like another brother." Her voice was smooth and pleasant. And at first, Matthew sensed a cool detachment in it, but heard beneath it the warmth of a new friend, and was put to ease by it.

"Which we will." Henry affirmed. "Do you like reading? Has Papa shown you the library?"

Matthew shook his head. "I haven't seen it yet, but I'd like to. I love to read."

"I'll ask him," Henry said, "excuse me for a moment."

He left to find his father, and Matthew was then alone with Mary. She bounced slightly on her toes to get his attention, and once she had it she spoke once more.

"How about riding? Do you ride?"

"I haven't much, really." he admitted, rather embarrassed because he could tell from her bright eyes that it was something she loved.

"Oh," he gaze clouded with disappointment. "perhaps Lynch can teach you. You can ride Henry's horse, I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"I'd like to learn." Matthew said, pleased with her offer, and was rewarded with a smile.

"I would let you ride my horse, but I haven't got one yet." she cupped a hand near her mouth and leaned up to his ear. "I might get one for my birthday!"

"I hope you do." Matthew said warmly, much more comfortable with her and Henry than he had been with the adults.

Henry had now returned. "Papa says we can show you the library, if you'd like."

Matthew nodded eagerly, and followed his cousins out of the drawing room and down a wide, beautifully adorned corridor. His older cousin walked proudly towards the apparently treasured room and Mary skipped alongside them, happy to be away from the restraints of propriety, even if it was only for a moment.

Matthew's mouth opened slightly in shock as he entered the room, and he turned a slow full circle once in the center to take it all in. It was a room that he knew would seem enormous both from the perspective of a child and that of an adult. Books lined its walls from floor to ceiling. An atlas was draped across one table, a globe on another, and the largest dictionary was opened to a middle page on its ornate stand.

"One day I'm going to read them all." Henry said reverently, noting Matthew's appreciation of the collection.

"I doubt that's even possible." Matthew murmured, and heard Henry's chuckle.

"Perhaps. Papa said to show you the books about law. They're right-"

"I'll show him! I know where they are! Come, Matthew!" Mary took his hand in hers and pulled him along the room with her brother in tow, leading him to an area with several large numbered volumes. "I know where all the books are." she put forth proudly.

"But you've yet to read any real ones." Henry teased.

"I may not have read as many large books as you have, Henry Crawley, but I am just as smart as you are!" Mary argued. Matthew could tell from her tone that she was quite serious, and could also sense that the claim was probably true.

"I'm only joking." Henry said in apology, and let Matthew step closer to the books and run his index finger over various spines, reading their titles out loud when he came to one that sounded interesting.

"I'm sure Papa would let you take one out. He's quite generous in lending them. Only don't lose it if you do." Henry warned.

"I wouldn't!" Matthew said, as if horrified by the idea.

"Mary lost one last year. Dickens, wasn't it?"

Matthew heard Mary's exasperated sigh in response and felt it was a sore subject.

"Turns out she had signed it out and put it back in the wrong place! So it was lost for months and months before someone discovered it!" Henry laughed.

Matthew looked around in time to see Mary blush and push his arm slightly. "I only took it because _you_ were reading Dickens. I barely read the first page!"

Henry laughed again playfully and gestured to his younger sister. "See? She loves books."

Matthew saw Mary's mouth take on an annoyed frown. It was clear she greatly admired her brother, and was hurt at his dismissal. He could tell she didn't like to be made fun of. Or maybe it was just because a stranger was in their midst and it embarrassed her. Matthew decided to come to her rescue.

"Perhaps just not Dickens."

Mary quipped an eyebrow and the corners of her mouth turned up. Matthew decided then that her smile was one of the loveliest ones he had ever seen, and never wanted it to disappear. "Thank you for that, Matthew. Henry could learn lessons in being a gentleman from you, it seems!"

They turned around as a male voice cleared its throat and were greeted by the same butler Matthew recognized from opening the door for him and Mother an hour earlier.

"Dinner is served." he said in a low, serious tone.

"Thank you, Carson!" Mary chirped from her spot next to Matthew, and as the butler turned around and walked on she took another opportunity to breach propriety by skipping back to the door ahead of the boys. As they caught up with her, Mary looped an arm through each of theirs and looked up to Matthew.

"I thought you would be horrid, but I don't think I'll mind having another brother so terribly much now I've met you."

This time there was no hint of coolness in her tone. Only the warmth and friendliness of her father and brother, and Matthew smiled down at her. Henry took the opportunity to ruffle her hair, which earned him a swift kick from Mary's little foot.

Turning back to Matthew, Mary looked up at him seriously. "Perhaps I'll just have you and Henry can be my _cousin._"

* * *

_A/N: Because I'm currently working on another story, this one is going to take a back seat until that one is wrapped up. Especially since I want to see what everyone thinks. If the reaction is overwhelmingly positive, I'll definitely try continuing it. But I know it's confusing (at least, it took weeks to plan out and that was a headache for me), so if you have any questions don't hesitate to PM me. Also, keep in mind that while this is AU, some parts will definitely be canon, and not everything will be rosy in the garden all the time. So, please leave a word or two for me to let me know your thoughts! _


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Happy Tuesday! I was completely blown away by the reviews for chapter one, so I whipped the final touches of this together to give you chapter II! Happy reading!_

**Yours Forever: Chapter II**

The arrangement, however strange it might have seemed at first, appeared to run quite smoothly. After a week of settling in, Isobel enrolled her son in the local school. Ever the scholar, Matthew proved himself to be one of the strongest pupils in attendance, and impressed his teachers with his attentiveness and care in his work. He excelled in his studies, and was soon making new friends and striking up his old habit of telling his mother about his day as soon as he got home after school. Isobel was overjoyed to see him thrive in a new environment, yet she was fighting her own internal battle. How was she to raise this boy alone? So much of him had to be credited to Reginald. His kind, patient nature. His careful way of explaining difficult concepts. Even his laugh. Of course, she had shaped him as well, but he took so much after his father. And now, left without him, would he continue to thrive as he had been doing his whole life?

But she couldn't doubt that. There weren't grounds for it. Matthew would, she was sure, overcome this bump on his journey to adulthood and be all the stronger for it in the end.

And she was infinitely glad that he had Mary and Henry. She had always wished for him to have siblings, and saw from the way that the three of them struck up their friendship that it would be a grounding constant in his life, one that she hoped would help him. Isobel had seen how Henry had taken him under his wing like an older brother would, and while she was still unsure of Mary's feelings, she hoped the girl would take him on as well.

Mary was a curious little creature, Isobel found herself thinking. She seemed to be bright, and sure of herself, unafraid and poised at all times. But there was something withholding about her. A coolness and a detachment that made her seem almost haughty. But this was all just her perspective as an outsider to their childish conversation, she was in no place to make judgement. Perhaps the girl would warm to her in time. She was only ten, after all.

* * *

Mary's birthday arrived, and she was gifted a horse, just as she had suspected. She called him Diamond, and Matthew saw her sometimes when he visited Henry at the Big House, riding in the paddock or on the far side of the grounds with Lynch beside her. He was impressed with the grace with which she carried herself on the animal: her head held high, her legs tucked to the side, and her quick nod at something Lynch said to her as they rode along. Soon he was pulled away by Henry to play chess or to battle with play swords out on the lawn, and as summer began and the scholastic year ended he was promised a visit to the lake when it warmed in July.

The three new friends fell into a routine. While the boys' schooling had ended for the summer holiday (Henry attended Eton), Mary's continued on. She spent long hours sitting with her governess and learning about the history of her country and tripping over German and French, with equal time devoted to learning to dance, sing, and play the piano.

Henry teased her relentlessly about dancing, for as she did it with as much grace as she rode Diamond, her feet were still getting used to the steps, and she often made mistakes. Her brother, for as playful as he was with her, never teased her about her music. On the contrary, he loved to hear her sing and play. In the afternoons, when Matthew joined them, the two would sit in the room above her and listen to the lilting waltzes she played on the piano, or the sweet notes of her voice that drifted upwards. Henry even went so far as to praise her for it, which earned him a proud smile from his little sister.

* * *

In late July came the annual Garden Party, to which Isobel and Matthew were naturally invited. They dressed in white, as was expected, and found that they fit in well with the other guests in attendance. Countless introductions were made. In a larger party there seemed to be more people of Isobel's class, and she was grateful for it. She was even able to meet someone from an area near Manchester and become up to date with the goings on in the place she had lived in what already seemed like a lifetime ago.

Mary managed to escape the watchful eye of her governess and found Matthew, pulling him away to a tall tree behind which Henry stood waiting.

"There you are! What took you so long?" Henry asked Mary in annoyance and she rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

"Matthew's a full head taller than me, I was running around on tip-toe for a quarter hour!"

Matthew chuckled at her excuse and saw her fan herself with one hand. The weather wasn't quite so warm but the sun shone brilliantly, reaching them even under the foliage of the old tree. She scratched at the back of her leg and complained of the heat.

"It's not that hot." Matthew argued gently.

"You haven't got three skirts on, have you?" Mary snapped, and he realized that she was rather covered-up.

Henry chuckled wryly and waved them along. "Come on, if we leave now no one will notice."

Mary looked back and saw that both her parents and her governess were well occupied before turning back and nodding.

"Where are we going?" Matthew asked, but Henry only pulled him along, hurrying down the hill, across the short grass and into the tree-lined boarder of the estate's lawn. The temperature cooled instantly under the heavy shade of various forest trees. Matthew hadn't noticed this small wood before, and moved brambles and leaves out of the way for Mary as she walked behind him. There seemed to be a roughly-hewn path leading in a winding snakelike way through the trees, and Matthew worried they would not be able to find their way back.

The remnants of the noises of laughter and drinks clinking together faded away the deeper they went, and Matthew was just about to voice his concern when the shade suddenly lifted and the sun shone brightly once more.

"It's not really a lake, but we've called it that ever since we discovered it. Sometimes Papa and I fish here." Henry explained as they reached a large clearing. The "lake" was not large, but still spanned a large area. The ground here was wet and mushy, and green algae clung to the surface of the water as they walked out and their feet touched it, going out for a few meters until it faded into the green-blue depths of the water.

"Well, what do you say? Let's have a swim." Henry said, untucking his shirt from his trousers and unbuttoning it.

"We can't! It's not proper!"Mary cried.

Henry rolled his eyes. "No one's around, Mary. Besides, it's too sunny to sit around here all day."

She noticed Matthew following Henry's lead and her eyes widened at the two of them, then scanned the area.

"Go on, no one's going to see." Henry reassured her. He stepped into the cool dark water in his undershirt and underpants and then plunged in, kicking algae and water up onto her dress, which was already ruined from smeared berry juice and dust kicked up from the path.

Matthew followed and their heads popped up shortly afterwards, flicking water from their ears and eyes and swimming out to the middle.

"Come on, Mary! Don't be a spoil sport!" Matthew called, waving a bare arm.

She sighed and wiggled her toes. "Only if you turn your backs!"

The boys obediently turned their heads and only after making sure that they would really keep their word did Mary unbutton and unfasten her things, folding them all in neat piles as layer after layer of white attire came peeling off. Finally, she stood in her slip and kicked the last of her dirt-smeared stockings off. She stepped daintily into the water, but the sensation to jump in overcame her too quickly and she plunged forward, splashing and sputtering as she swam out to join Henry and Matthew.

They turned and smiled as she swam up to them.

"All right? Can you swim?" Matthew asked as she panted slightly, suddenly chastising himself for not thinking of that.

She nodded breathlessly and brushed hair out of her eyes. "It's so cool here!" she marveled, looking down at her pale skin and seeing it spring up in gooseflesh under the shade of the green water.

"Where did you learn?" Matthew asked curiously as she tread the water with ease. It was rare, he thought, that a girl knew how to swim.

"Never you mind." Mary said, lifting her chin slightly and laughing under her breath at the air of mystery with which she delivered her line.

Henry splashed her with a quick flick of water and she gasped, outraged, and shot some back at him. Matthew soon joined in the fun, and then all that could be heard were shouts and whoops and endless splashing.

* * *

It was nearing nightfall when they finally got out, their underthings clinging to them and their voices hoarse from yelling. The water was colder, and so was the air as they dried off as best the could and put on their clothes again. Mary, her modesty forgotten, threw her stockings aside and stepped into her various skirts, having Henry button them up the back. She sighed at her hair, which now hung in wet tangles down her back.

"They'll have sent out a search party by now." Henry mused as they began to climb back up through the forest, Mary moaning with each step as her feet were bruised and scratched. Fireflies began to blink around them as the sun set, and the forest smelled musty and woody. It was dark under the trees and they stumbled up through them, veering off from the path occasionally. Mary's ankles and shins were flecked with mud and scratches by the time they reached the soft grasses of the lawn again, and they all exhaled in relief to see the party still going on in full swing.

Just as it appeared they hadn't been missed by anyone, the ominous shape of a woman in white hurrying towards them made their blood go cold. She was moving so quickly that it was impossible to escape, and Mary stepped closer to Henry as their mother approached them, her lips tightly pursed.

"Where. Have. You. Been?" she asked in a clipped, low tone, her eyes darting from Matthew's wet clothes and Henry's untucked shirt to her daughter's legs and feet and filthy dress.

"We just went...for a swim, down at the lake." Matthew spoke up when Henry looked down at his feet and Mary looked anywhere but at her mother. Her gaze moved to Matthew in a curious expression, however, when he confessed the truth.

Cora looked at her two children. "Is that right? You were down at the lake?"

Henry and Mary nodded sadly.

"And have you no sense of decency?" she snapped. "Henry, what were you thinking, taking your sister out of sight with Matthew!"

"Mamma!" Henry protested with indignation. "We went for a swim, that's all! And we're back now, as you see!"

She swatted his cheek. Robert was walking up behind her and saw this exchange. Knowing from experience that a rare slap from his wife usually meant trouble, he hurried to find his two children and Matthew shivering in front of Cora.

"What's going on?" he asked, shocked at the state of the three children.

Mary looked desperately at her father, who had always championed her. "We only went down to the lake, Papa! We didn't know it had gotten so late!"

He sighed, looking at his wife, who was the very picture of anger. "Cora," she batted his hand away. "let's send them inside, they'll catch a cold. We can talk to them in the morning."

She looked up at him in frustration before turning with a 'humf' and walking back to the white tent. Robert looked at the children with a harsh eye and looked to be on the brink of a lecture before softening at the sight of them.

"Hurry up inside before I change my mind. Mary, have Carson prepare a room for Matthew."

They made their way back inside the Abbey, and Mary's cheeks colored under Carson's horrified stare at their state of undress. He schooled his expression, however, and followed young Lady Mary's gentle request that a room be made up for her cousin.

At the breaking of the corridor between Mary and Henry's rooms Mary made to go to hers, but Matthew's voice stopped her. He could sense that she was upset, and maybe ashamed of her behavior. It wasn't what a Lady would do. No, it wasn't at all what an aristocrat would do. She hadn't thought.

"When did you learn to swim?"

Mary turned around and looked at him sadly, still lost in her thoughts, before answering. "Henry taught me. Two years ago, at the Garden Party."

Henry smiled at her. "She can beat me at swimming lengths."

Mary smiled a little sadly and tipped her head up. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mary." Matthew said, and watched her continue down the hall and turned the doorknob to open her room.

* * *

Summer drew to an end, and Henry packed up his trunk to return to Eton. The school year began, and with Henry gone and Matthew spending his days at the village school, Mary was left alone in the Abbey. All year she dreaded September, hating having to say goodbye to her brother, knowing the next time she saw him would be in December for the Christmas holiday.

"It's alright," Henry had comforted as she clung to him before he boarded his train."You have Matthew now to play with."

Mary shook her head. "It's not the same."

Henry ruffled a hand through her hair, which hung in soft curls down her back. She batted his hand away, as usual. "Well, you'll have to make do. Besides, I'll be home for Christmas." he saw her jaw set firmly and her lips quiver ever so slightly, so he squeezed her before letting go. "Cheer up, it's not the end of the world!"

Mary nodded, shook herself a little and stepped back, finding her mother whose hand came to rest on Mary's shoulder comfortingly. Henry waved back at his family and walked forward to the train, climbing into it. Cora moved beside her daughter and took her hand, running her thumb over it soothingly. "Now, wait a moment…"

Mary moved to her tip toes and moved her head among the bustling people to look for him and, sure enough, after a few minutes they saw his dark head pop out of the compartment window and his hand swiftly follow, waving back to his family.

Mary jumped up slightly and waved back in earnest, wishing for some reason that Matthew could be there with them.

* * *

Matthew had only attended the village school for the last month of the term before the summer holiday, and was glad to return to its routine in September. He moved through his studies with ease, his thoroughness and care with his work a trait inherited from his late father, and became top of his class. Their interaction with the Big House lessened with the Autumn months, as Matthew's studies took precedence and Isobel's involvement with the local hospital kept her relatively busy. However, they were invited to dine once a week at the Abbey, and always looked forward to these occasions with their newfound family.

Mary delighted in Matthew's company. Having few friends of her own in such an isolated environment, she had habituated herself to spending six months out of the year in relative solitude. Matthew's visits to her home were treasured, and she lit up with him to talk to. Knowing how scholarly and intellectual her cousin was, she anticipated showing him her own studies, and had become a better pupil in her own right as she followed his example.

"When do you study mathematics?" Matthew had asked one afternoon after she had put away her books on seventeenth century England.

Mary shrugged her shoulders. "Clara says I know enough of that now."

Matthew looked at her seriously. "What's twelve times twelve?"

Mary laughed. "Oh, Matthew! Why would I ever need to know that?"

"Because it's important! Try and do the figure, I'll help you."

He watched as she sat down and took out her graphite pencil, pulling out a sheet of stationary and carefully writing the digits out. He was astonished that her mathematics background was so limited. As early as eight years old he had been drilled in multiplication, knowing the squares of numbers up to fifteen.

She worked for a few moments before looking up in accomplishment. "Eighty-seven!"

Matthew shook his head. "No, no. Try again."

Mary looked at him helplessly. "I don't know how. I don't need to know how!"

Matthew took a seat beside her and took the pencil from her fingers. "Yes, you do. Look, it might be easier if you add them all together." he wrote twelve set of twelves stacked up on top of each other in a neat row and helped her with the sum. She used her fingers and, after two minutes of diligent counting, proudly stated. "One hundred and forty-four."

He smiled. "That's right. Math is important, Mary. I can't understand why your governess would tell you it wasn't."

She smiled at him with pity. "Matthew, you know nothing about girls! I don't need mathematics. I need to learn how to run a household and...dance and...proper etiquette!" she laughed again at his foolishness.

Matthew was again serious. "Just because you're a girl doesn't mean your education should be any less than ours."

Mary's smile faded."I hadn't thought of that before."

Mary was far from simple-minded. Matthew had known that from the beginning, but her mind was not being stimulated enough from her basic studies. Whenever he came to the Abbey he brought her a book. Books about Ancient Rome, Greek tragedies, the history of countries in Europe whose names Mary had never heard of. With this new material, she thrived. Having free time in abundance, she focused it on these new lessons, appearing almost to compete with Matthew in the pace with which she devoured them. And when December came, and the Christmas holiday began, Henry returned home to find his sister much changed since he had left her.

* * *

Matthew was hurt when Mary tossed him aside in favor of her brother, telling him all the new things she had learned and how she was reading the same plays as he was. He knew that Henry would always overshadow him in Mary's eyes, and watched her utter joy with a bit of bitterness as she sang and played for her older brother, then sat by him on the soft carpet of the drawing room while he recounted ridiculous tales from school.

"Whatever's the matter, Matthew? You look terribly glum!" Mary laughed one particular evening, her cheeks rosy from the light of the fire.

Henry had gone to find the chessboard so he and Matthew could play, and Matthew's gaze had been focused on the patterned carpet until Mary's voice broke his concentration.

"Nothing's the matter."

Mary scooted closer to him and snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Yes, something is wrong. You've been out of sorts for days. Now, tell me what it is!"

He found it terribly hard to refuse her, so he looked up into her wide, brown eyes and sighed with embarrassment. "You don't seem to care for my company much anymore."

Mary laughed, then put a hand over her mouth to cover it, sensing that he was truly hurt. "Matthew, you know that's not true."

At his lack of reaction she leaned forward and ruffled his blonde hair as Henry would have done. "You know that's not true." she said again, her voice soft.

He sighed and managed to smile at her. She giggled happily at this and promptly threw her arms around him, kissing his cheek quickly and drawing back. "See? There. You're just the same as Henry to me!"

* * *

_A/N: What do you think so far? After this chapter there are going to be some jumps in time so we can really delve into the plot. As always, thank you for reading and all the people who've favorited and added this to their alerts, it really means so much to know that people are interested! _


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Happy Wednesday! Here's the next installment, which spans quite a few years, so make sure to pay attention to dates!_

**Chapter III**

August, 1905

"No, it's too much." Isobel protested once more, although she knew she was slowly losing the battle.

Robert sighed and looked to Cora for reinforcement. They heard Mary's laugh from outside followed by shouts from the boys as they rough-housed in the small back garden of Crawley House.

Cora smiled gently at Isobel. "Isobel, be sensible. We've all seen Matthew running circles around his classmates. This way he could be properly challenged, and Henry would always be there to help him if he needed it."

Isobel thought it over quickly in her head. She had been wrestling with the idea ever since Lord Grantham and his wife had proposed it to her a month ago. It would mean a big change for Matthew. Another new school, new environment, new friends, not to mention entering an overwhelmingly upper-class society. And then there was the issue of money. No, it was far too much.

Isobel took a deep breath and sat up straighter in her chair. "I couldn't bear the idea of being further in debt to you than we already are."

Robert's eyes took on a dark hue. "Is that what you really think?" he said in as calm a manner as he could muster. "That this is merely charity? It is nothing of the kind. We want what's best for Matthew. Sending him to Eton would be the best for him. And if it's the money you're worried about, don't be."

"It would be our pleasure." Cora interjected.

Isobel bit her lip slightly and looked out the window, hearing Mary's shriek as the two boys chased her and then her laugh when Henry grabbed her around the waist and caught her. Matthew laughed at Mary's struggle as she reached out her arms to him.

"Matthew!" she begged through her laugh and was rescued from her attacker with his hands.

Isobel looked back. "Alright." she agreed with a smile.

Robert exhaled and Cora's eyes twinkled in delight. "Marvelous!" Robert said, standing up. "I'm sure Henry will be delighted with the news."

Isobel stood as well and held out a hand. "Would you mind terribly if...if I told Matthew first? I want him to have time to get used to the idea."

"Of course." Robert said with understanding. "And if the boy doesn't like the idea, we won't dream of forcing it upon him."

Isobel smiled at them both. "Thank you ever so much. It's so generous of you."

She showed them out, her heart swelling with affection for her relatives at their obvious love for her son. As they exited, Cora gave her disheveled daughter a sharp look and Mary instantly straightened, holding her head high and smoothing her rumpled skirts.

"Come along, children." Cora said and beckoned for Henry and Mary to come with them to the waiting car. Henry and his sister waved at Matthew and walked obediently towards their parents, Mary calling out over her shoulder,

"Goodbye, Cousin Isobel!"

Isobel waved and glanced back at Matthew, who was looking at his retreating cousins with a hint of disappointment. She motioned for him to come over and put a hand on his shoulder as they walked back inside, taking a fortifying breath as she prepared to breach the topic with him.

* * *

September, 1905

At fourteen and sixteen, respectively, Matthew and Henry had grown significantly since their first meeting two years previously. Matthew was slightly taller than his cousin, but Henry's voice had deepened and made him sound the older one. Their maturity had not only shifted in appearance, however. Two years of school and companionship had fostered a mental growth as well, and they now were able to join in well with Lord Grantham's conversation at the dinner table or as he walked with them on the estate. The Earl truly thought of Matthew as a second son, and was eager to show him all that he had taught Henry through the years. The two did practically everything together, and Matthew had accepted Robert's offer to attend Eton readily, grateful not only for the education, but also for the fact that he could continue his friendship with his cousin during the school year.

Mary had changed as well. Still more petite than her cousin and brother, she had still grown in height. Her body hadn't quite caught up with her yet, and so she was a skinny little thing, with long arms and legs and an elegant neck. Her dancing had vastly improved, although she had yet to really use it, and so she contented herself with forcing Matthew and Henry to partner her when she practiced. This time it was she who teased them, laughing openly when they forgot a step. She stifled her louder laughs into Matthew's shoulder when he stepped on her feet and began to apologize profusely, clutching her side and then her foot at his bashfulness.

But all too soon September arrived and it was time to say goodbye again. This time it was doubly hard on Mary, and on the morning of September 1st she refused to come down from her room to see them to the station, instead sitting at the window-seat in her room and looking down sullenly as they loaded their trunks into the back of the car below her.

She wasn't good at goodbyes. She locked the door to her room and sat there, her knees drawn up to her chest under her blue frock, her dark hair pulled back with a ribbon, and watched the footmen take the boys' trunks out to the car.

Her chin quivered as she saw the boys go out on the pea-stone driveway, Henry's dark head and Matthew's light one small below her. Her throat felt tight, but she refused to cry. They had tried to get her to open her door earlier, but not even Robert had been able to persuade her to say a proper farewell.

"She's really being a child about the whole thing!" Cora had exclaimed in resignation. "We've spoiled her for far too long, Robert."

Her husband had rubbed her arm gently and nodded. "She is still a child, Cora. Let her feel the way she feels."

He ruffled the boys' hair as they bid them all farewell, the servants included. The children were well-loved by all, and Isobel wiped her eyes with her handkerchief tearfully as Matthew and Henry prepared to climb in the car. Suddenly, Matthew put his hand on Henry's arm and motioned for him to look up at a high window. Henry followed his finger and saw his younger sister, her small body leaning against the window in her room. He could tell by her expression that this was her goodbye, she was saying it in her own way.

He smiled sadly and waved up at her, as did Matthew, which only made several tears burst from her eyes. She wiped them away immediately and inhaled sharply, refusing to let her weakness at their departure show. Matthew nodded encouragingly, and they watched her perk up slightly, garnering her emotions like any good British aristocrat should, before offering a small smile in return and a wave of her own.

They climbed into the car and waved goodbye to their parents, and as the car drove off, Matthew looked back up at Mary's window. She was no longer there.

* * *

Christmas Holiday, 1907

"They're home, Mary!" Robert called up the staircase, but his fifteen year old daughter was already running down, having heard the sound of gravel under tired from her room upstairs. Cora gave her a withering look and Mary slowed down, running her hands over her dark green dress to smooth the fabric and smiling widely as she walked with more dignity out to the front.

No sooner had Henry stepped out from the car then Mary was in his arms, laughing happily with childish delight. He set her down after kissing her cheek and moved out of the way so Matthew could climb out as well. Mary hugged him tightly, earning a wary eye from her mother, and linked her arms in both of theirs before leading them inside the warmth of the Abbey, which was lit and decorated for another spectacular Christmas.

"You're so tall!" she exclaimed as they handed their coats to the butler. Matthew must have been almost half a head taller than her, almost the height of a man, while her brother was just a bit shorter, but just as mature looking. At eighteen and sixteen they were well on their way to becoming men, and Mary was frightened at it. Only seeing them on holidays had made her miss out on months and months of time that could have been spent together, and she sometimes felt that she knew them less and less as time went on.

Over the course of the holiday, Mary became more and more aware of how much they had all changed. Henry and Matthew spoke about books to her father that hadn't heard of, and she vowed to read them all so she too could understand. They laughed at jokes from school together, like always, but Mary had never felt more left out. It was as if they had completely forgotten about her, and about the times they had spent together growing up. Even as they opened her gifts to them on Christmas Day and kissed her cheek in thanks, she still felt terribly apart and neglected.

_There is nothing more unfair than being a girl in this world, _she thought often. While the boys were still allowed to playfully smack each other and discuss politics and their horrible teachers, she was expected to sit perfectly straight and listen attentively, one foot tucked behind the other ankle, and smile prettily no matter what was being discussed. Under the shrewish eye of her mother and governess, she boiled inside. It wasn't fair! None of it was fair!

* * *

One evening, after they had all retired, she heard noise coming from Henry's room around the corner. Struck with the desire to rebel against her mother's hawk-like gaze, she pulled on her dressing gown and snuck carefully out of her large bedchamber, her bare feet padding silently against the thick red patterned carpet.

Light was dripping out from under the closed door, and, without bothering to knock, Mary turned the knob and quietly squeezed inside.

"Mary!" her brother exclaimed, pulling his head back from the window in surprise as his sister shushed him and shut the door behind her. He saw her eyes widen.

"Henry Crawley, what do you think you're doing?" she cried in a whisper, seeing him leaning slightly out the window, a small cigarette held lightly between two practiced fingers. Matthew turned his head around and Mary saw, with shock that he also held one. She moved closer to them, hugging herself as the winter chill leaked from the open window.

"Promise you won't tell?" Henry asked, seeing his sister's outraged expression.

She waved her hand and scoffed. "Oh, I won't tell but-" she wrinkled her nose in distaste. "where did you get them?"

"A chap at school, Frank Leonard." Matthew answered, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke out the window.

Mary shook her head sadly. "It's a disgusting habit."

Henry chuckled. "You're probably right." he held out the cigarette to her. "Why don't you take a try at it?"

Mary's mouth fell open. "What? But it's revolting!"

It was Matthew's turn to laugh at his cousin's innocence. "Go on, Mary."

She pursed her lips but, not wanting to appear a coward, took the cigarette delicately from Henry's fingers and brought it to her mouth, inhaling much too sharply and promptly dropping the blasted thing to the ground, where Matthew lunged to pick it up. She coughed and and Henry held her by the window as she gasped and retched desperately.

When she recovered, she turned around to them, tears streaming from her eyes at the effort, and shook her head. "Definitely a disgusting habit."

Matthew laughed, much too loudly, and Mary clapped a delicate but firm hand over his mouth. "You mustn't! You'll get us all in trouble! If Mamma found me here…"she suddenly tugged the tie to her robe tighter around her thin waist and waved stray hair out of her face.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "Then what?" his words were muffled under her fingers.

Mary gave him a piercing look. "I have to get back. You boys put those out!" she chided.

* * *

New Years Eve, 1909

The New Years Ball was always spectacular. The house was still decorated with tinsel and greenery from Christmas, and guests filled it up with chatter and laughing. At midnight fireworks were set off, and the whole village gathered each year to see them shower down over the moors, the explosives lighting up the starry winter sky in wonderful patterns and ringing in the New Year with a literal bang.

There were always too many people, most of which Mary did not know or didn't care to know. So she wandered aimlessly around in search of Elizabeth Williams or Julia Finch, two daughters of family friends whom she'd known for years. Finally locating them, she laughed and sipped cider in the ballroom while others danced, the women's skirts swishing beautifully against the freshly cleaned floors, men's hands gently placed on their backs. Elizabeth, who was somewhat round and plain, lamented the fact that she hadn't been asked to dance.

"Except Percy Rowan, but I wouldn't dance with him if he were the king of England!"

Julia snorted into her drink at Elizabeth's comment and looked at her own card. "I do hope your cousin Matthew would ask me, he hasn't yet, and he promised he would."

Mary's eyes blinked curiously at her, but she said nothing. She sought him out on the dance floor and saw him gracefully leading Claire Parsons out on his arm as the music started again. He looked rather smug, and Mary scoffed at him quietly.

"Who's your next dance, Mary?" Julia enquired, setting her glass down on a silver tray that passed by them.

Mary looked down at her dance card. "Peter Cross." she said. She was dancing with him at her father's insistence. They had been pushed together since the night of Mary's debut ball in June, and while he was pleasant and gentlemanly, there was something lacking in his person. Mary found his conversation rather dull and mediocre compared to the verbal sparring she engaged in with Matthew and her brother. She had become quite well-read in the past years, devouring each book the boys read to be able to match them when they returned from university on holiday.

Henry was reading Classics, and Matthew had pursued the law, but she proved to be their equal in any type of debate. This pleased and impressed the boys, but mildly annoyed Cora, as she wanted nothing more than to get Mary married before she ruined all her chances by appearing to be too much the intellectual.

As the dance ended and Mary watched Matthew release Claire, find her a drink, and walk over to where the three of them stood, her heart rose up in her chest. He was even taller in his white tie, and Mary felt Julia rise up on her toes in anticipation as he approached them. Matthew smiled at the three girls and greeted Julia and Elizabeth by name with a kiss on the hand. Turning to Mary, he took her hand and kissed it, the gesture seeming ridiculous to both of them given their history of jumping into forbidden lakes in their underthings and splashing each other with mud as children.

"Is your dance card filled yet?" he asked Mary, and she felt Julia sink back down to the floor with a small sigh.

Mary smiled nervously and withdrew her hand quickly as she saw Peter walking towards her from across the room.

"Yes, actually!" she said in a raised voice. "I'm dancing with Peter!"

"Peter Cross?" Matthew asked with a laugh. "Why, aren't you sick of him yet?"

Mary's eyes flashed at him. She was mortified that he would speak to her so informally in front of her friends. "I'll have you know I quite enjoy his company!"

It was a lie, and they both knew it. She walked away from them quickly before he could say anything else and joined Peter halfway across the floor. Mary gave him no time to ask before walking out with him to the dance floor as the music began. She motioned for him to take her waist and arm and he did so quickly. Smiling prettily as the orchestra struck up a quick waltz, Mary followed his lead gracefully, her deep blue dress swishing across the floor as the had seen the other women's do moments ago.

She looked over Peter's shoulder as he said something she couldn't care less about and saw Matthew smiling charmingly at Julia, who looked positively smitten as he swirled her across the ballroom.

"Lady Mary?" Peter prodded, and she suddenly realized she hadn't been listening to him at all.

"Yes? Sorry, Peter," she apologized, forcing her eyes to focus back on his face and not on Matthew's hand which was on the small of Julia's back. "I was distracted."

* * *

Mary found herself again next to Peter as they all filtered outside at quarter to midnight to see the fireworks. She was shivering, and he stood slightly too close to her as they descended the steps from the back of the house. She had danced with him twice during the evening, and spoken with him at length about Dickens, which she was surprised to find he actually knew quite well. Mary had lost sight of Matthew in the ballroom, but saw him now leading Claire out onto the lawn with the rest of them. There was still some snow on the ground, and they all chattered impatiently as the servants and some handy villagers set up the traditional fireworks.

"You know, New Years is my favorite holiday." Peter said in a low voice, looking up at the starry night sky.

"Oh?" Mary responded automatically.

"It's so full of new beginnings and new memories to be made, don't you think?" he looked to her and smiled.

She saw his look and chuckled. "Good heavens, Peter, I didn't take you for such a romantic!"

They were a bit set off from the crowd, and Peter daringly put an arm at her waist. Mary felt a blush immediately spread up from her chest to her cheeks and she swallowed, remaining as cool and calm as she possibly could. She spotted Matthew, not far off, and looked down at her shoes which peeped out under her skirts. Anywhere but at Peter.

"And what if I am?" he asked flirtatiously.

The countdown was beginning, and the adults began to chant the numbers as they became smaller and smaller. Finally, the bang of the fireworks went off and the New Year was here. Mary jumped predictably, and whether it was from nerves or from the sound of the explosives, she couldn't say. Peter tightened his hold on her waist. Her heart was beating rapidly.

Suddenly he pulled her closer to him and, before she could do anything about it, his lips met hers. Her heart sped up even further and she was sure the beat of it must be audible. It was her first kiss, and after he pulled away from her, grinning wildly, she felt light on her feet.

The fireworks were still shattering around them and, overcome by it all, Mary smiled breathlessly back at him, too shocked to speak. Less than a moment later, when the familiar lyrics of Auld Lang Syne drifted around the party, Matthew appeared before them. He offered his arm to Mary and smiled politely at Peter.

"Your mother's asking for you." he explained, and Mary looked at him angrily, taking his arm with a subtle hint of force.

"Excuse me, Peter." she apologized, turning around to him.

He waved his arm as if it were no trouble, but the smug grin remained on his face from kissing Lady Mary Crawley.

* * *

"Where's _Claire_?" Mary drawled as Matthew swept her away.

He scoffed. "She's a nice girl, Mary. You like her!"

"I suppose." Mary admitted softly. "Why does Mamma want me?"

"She doesn't, I just wanted to get you away from that ghastly boy." he explained, but Mary pulled her arm out from his.

"What?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "You looked unhappy, so I came to your rescue!"

She gasped in outrage. "You _what_? I'll have you know I was quite content where I was! You needn't 'Rescue me' unless I expressly ask it of you! I don't need to be rescued!"

His eyes widened at her anger. "He kissed you!" he argued, as if this were reason enough.

"Yes, and what of it? I'm allowed to be kissed, aren't I?" she retaliated sharply.

"Not by Peter Cross!"

"Well, I like him!" Mary cried, brushing past him and walking at a quick pace to leave him behind. He caught up with her and grabbed her arm.

"Mary, I-"

Her cheeks were outlined by the light of the moon, creating hard lines and casting a shadow over her eyes. "I don't need you to protect me! I'm a woman now, Matthew, whether you like it or not."

She yanked her arm back. "I'm going inside. Go back to _Claire_." she commanded icily, and turned back, practically running up the darkened steps and into the still brightly lit interior of Downton Abbey.

* * *

_A/N: The plot thickens...let me know what you think! I'm floored by the amount of response I've gotten so far. You are all fantastic! _


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Happy weekend! Here's a little Friday treat! A long chapter, too! Also: apologies that this chapter contains two separate dances. It just worked out that way. Originally I had another event between them but I cut it for ~reasons. _

**Chapter IV**

February, 1910

Claire's birthday ball proved to be quite the occasion. It seemed as if all of London's finest had been invited, and certainly felt like it as Matthew Crawley entered the shining crystal ballroom with Teddy Moore, a friend of his from university. They were stuck shoulder to shoulder with other tall young bachelors in white tie, and then between them pretty, blushing girls with flouncing dresses and chirping voices. They didn't even see a glimpse of Claire until later in the evening, when Teddy finally claimed his dance with her.

Matthew scanned the crowd for his cousin Henry, who was expected to attend as well. Claire's father was a friend of the Earl and, as such, the four of them had grown up seeing each other. Claire was a pleasant and pretty girl, and Matthew smiled as he saw her dancing happily with man after man, showing off her graceful dancing and shining beauty before all of London society.

"Who's she, do you think?" Teddy asked suddenly, nudging Matthew. He looked away from Claire and in the direction Teddy had leaned. "Crikey."

"Who?" Matthew asked.

"_Her_." Teddy said impatiently, breaking social conduct by pointing with his index finger. Matthew's eyes widened. It was Mary.

She was laughing gaily with a friend, a soft blush on her cheeks from the heat of the ballroom. He had known she was coming, but hadn't seen her since their argument at New Years.

He shrugged offhandedly. "Lady Mary Crawley."

Teddy whistled slightly under his breath and Matthew looked at him in annoyance. "I'd like to dance with her…"

Matthew shrugged again, looking around before his eyes came back to her. And he realized with an unexpected lurch in his stomach that his cousin was..._breathtaking. _His gaze began at her head, where a thin silver band of pressed metal leaves traced a line through her dark hair. He noticed the small freckles -one behind her left ear, the other over her collar bone, and the way she tilted her head slightly to better hear her friends' conversation.

Her dress was exquisite- blue and green and black, falling off her taller frame in perfect lines. She turned then, quite suddenly, and across the room her eyes met Matthew's. Mary smiled and tipped her head in invitation to her cousin, who she ever only saw on school holidays.

Teddy, taking her look as some sign that she was allowing him to claim his prize, walked forward and away from Matthew, who tore his eyes painfully away from her and followed quickly in his stead.

"You wouldn't mind if I asked her first, would you?" Matthew asked suddenly, clearing his throat. "Only I haven't seen her since the New Year…"

"You _know _her?" Teddy asked in disbelief.

Matthew nodded, trying to conceal a swell of pride in the fact, and pushed imperceptibly past his friend and over to where Mary was standing. She smiled at him but he could tell from the restraint of it that she was adhering strictly to the "Rules". At home she would have embraced him and kissed his cheek, but here things were different. She offered her hand to him and he kissed it, introducing her to a stammering Teddy before she allowed him the same privilege.

"Fancy a dance?" Matthew asked, knowing it was informal of him but not minding, not among people their own age.

She laughed, slightly embarrassed by his forwardness, but took his offered hand with an easy smile. He swept her off, and Teddy watched, mouth agape as his friend waltzed with the most beautiful girl in the room.

"Do you think he likes her?" Teddy asked quietly, catching Mary's friend's eye. Elizabeth looked out to the dance floor, where Mary's eyes brightly met Matthew's as they spun.

"Oh, yes…" she said knowingly.

"How could he not…" Teddy mumbled to himself, watching bitterly until the dance was over and he could take her out in front of everyone.

* * *

"You've improved!" Matthew remarked at her quick footwork. He had gotten quite good at it himself, attending countless balls and parties over the months he spent at Oxford away from his family.

He remembered when they were younger Mary's parents bringing a dancing instructor to the house to teach the three children how to dance properly. He couldn't count the number of times he and Henry had trampled over poor Mary's feet. She had seemed so much littler than them at that time, she couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve, and they had teased her mercilessly, blaming her clumsy feet for their own error. Now she seemed to be dancing circles around him, looking as if she barely thought about each step, seeming to conjure each one up out of thin air.

"I've always been a good dancer." she responded playfully. Tilting her head upwards to him, she raised an eyebrow that caused his breath to hitch strangely in his throat. "You've been keeping out of trouble, I hope?"

He coughed slightly. "You know us -always in some amount of trouble or another."

She smiled and looked down slightly as the footwork changed, and when she looked up, her gaze seemed to go past him for a moment. "Claire looks marvelous tonight. I've always envied her light hair…" she sighed wistfully.

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Lady Mary? Jealous?"

She gave him a warning look, but there was mirth behind it. "You know what I mean, Matthew."

"Claire Parsons couldn't hold a candle to you." Matthew said, and he realized it was true.

Mary, used to having easy and unassuming conversation with her brother and Matthew, thought nothing of his words apart from them being out of brotherly love. He was flattering her, and for the amount of teasing they'd both plagued her with during her childhood she felt deserving of it. Nevertheless, a small swell of vanity rose inside her when he made the comment about Claire Parsons. Claire was pretty, anyone could see and adhere to the truth of the statement, but Matthew had likened her to Claire as well. Not only that, he had said she was _better. _Mary shook her head slightly as if to clear it of these thoughts. How vain of her!

"Mary, I wanted to apologize for...how I behaved, at New Years." Matthew said softly, his breath tickling her ear.

She sighed and looked up at him under dark lashes, grateful but not deserving of his apology. "Oh, Matthew. It doesn't matter. I was being silly."

He squeezed her hand more tightly. "Yes, it does matter. I shouldn't have acted so...possessive of you. I don't own you."

She smiled. "I know. But really, Matthew, it's forgotten. And anyway, it's me who should apologize. I rather gutted you out, didn't I?"

Now Matthew smiled in relief, thankful that their small rift had been mended. "I forget sometimes, you know. I guess we'll have to get used to the idea of sharing you now you've grown up."

"Yes, I suppose you should!" she said with a laugh.

The orchestra stopped playing and Mary's hand relaxed in Matthew's. He held her there for what seemed like just a moment longer than necessary, and then reluctantly let her go. As she politely thanked him for the dance and walked back with him, Matthew frowned.

He drowned out the noise around him as unexpected thoughts consumed him, and watched deafly as Teddy's face lit up, Mary taking his arm and him leading her in the next dance. Matthew took the nearest fluke of champagne he could find and downed it quickly, wanting to distract himself.

But he couldn't. His eyes seemed incapable of leaving her. Her harshly spoken words crashed back to him from January: _I'm a woman now, Matthew. Whether you like it or not! _

Truthfully, he didn't know what to think of it. He remembered leaving her in the Autumn of 1909 just a little girl who had just begun to wear her hair off her neck, and when he had returned for Christmas he had been greeted with a completely different Mary. No longer was she the gangly fourteen year old, or the suddenly self-conscious sixteen year old. She had grown up, perhaps more than the boys had done, and the thought troubled him.

Did he want her to remain that little girl? Certainly not. But the new image of her that presented itself to him brought up feelings he hadn't been confronted with before. Oh, she had been pretty in her youth, and he had noticed it from the beginning. He supposed he'd always admired her for that. And then, later, he had noted the complexity of her spirit, and the air of mystery to her. That he had admired too, because he had known that he would never know everything about her.

But now here she was. Mary's beauty frightened him in its intensity. He found as he watched her move that he would have to relearn her. So Matthew decided that he didn't like it, not at all. For now that Mary was a woman, she was a whole other creature, and he was scared by it.

* * *

June, 1910

"Ah, it's from Matthew!" Lord Grantham said with contentment. "Here, Mary, it's addressed to you."

His daughter looked up from the breakfast table in surprise. It wasn't often that the boys wrote her from university. They were much too busy, particularly Henry. Occasionally Matthew would write to recount a funny story, or to ask for one from home, but it was still rare. Mary set down her utensils and took the letter from her father's hand, breaking the seal and reading it quickly.

_30 May_

_Mary,_

_We've just received the invitations to your birthday. Eighteen! How does it feel? Henry and I will both be back in time for your ball, naturally, but as Henry is bringing Amelia, I wanted to write and ask your permission to bring a guest of my own._

_You see, I met her when I was a child. Her father was a friend of mine, apparently. His name is Reginald as well, oddly enough, and her name is Lavinia. She's a sweet girl and, having heard of you from Henry and I, wishes very much to make your acquaintance. I think you would like her as well. _

_Of course, I wouldn't want to impose another guest upon you. So write to me, Mary, and tell me your answer._

_Matthew_

"What does he say?" Robert asked curiously as she put down the letter and blinked.

She looked over to him. "He'd like to bring someone to the ball."

"Oh?"

Mary picked up the letter again and found the girl's name. "Yes, she's called Lavinia Swire. Do we know her?"

Robert shook his head. "No, not that I'm aware." he chuckled. "So, has our Matthew found someone to court? Imagine that!"

Mary laughed dryly and put the letter down again, coughing slightly. Her father laughed to himself again and she frowned.

"I'm sorry, Papa, but I'm not very hungry. I'm sure Matthew is waiting on my reply." she stood up and pushed her chair back in at his nod of acknowledgment.

_"_Tell him we're all anxious to meet her!" Robert called as she walked away, the letter clasped tightly between her hands and her brow knit slightly.

_2 June_

_Dear Matthew,_

_I must admit that I was surprised to receive your letter, you hardly write since you left Eton. Anyway, I'm glad to have gotten it and to know the invitations arrived safely. I'm afraid it will be quite the occasion. Mamma insisted, as we all know the next step after this one is the quest for a husband. It's strange, actually. Sometimes I feel quite like a child and others as if I've lived a thousand years._

_To answer your second question: of course. I would love for you to bring Ms. Swire. Papa, upon hearing your request, assumed you were courting her. So I can't help but ask, on all of our behalf, if it is true. _

_While on the subject, you must convince Henry, for his sake as much as ours, not to continue on with Ms. Bishop. It seems everyone realizes how horrid she is except my foolish brother. So talk some sense into him, Matthew. You were always good at that._

_Mary_

* * *

In the week leading up to the boys' return from school and the impending night of her birthday, Mary spent three days and two nights at her friend Julia's country home, and found it pleasant to be with a girl her own age, rather than her parents, who had begun to invite countless 'eligible young men' to dine with them. It had started out pleasantly enough, and Mary had been able to stand conversation from even the dullest of them. But now it was becoming ridiculous, and she didn't know how much longer she could keep up the farce. Peter had come to dine twice in the last two months, and Mary had come to tolerate his relatively boring nature, although she was still in denial over the fact that their families were pushing them closer and closer together. Her mother told her only last week to be on her guard, warning Mary that Peter could potentially propose to her before the year ended.

She found herself wishing that Matthew would delay his return and instead go with her brother to visit Europe as they had originally planned to in July. She had expressed this wish to Henry, who had flatly refused in his letter, telling her it was out of the question that they wouldn't attend her birthday ball. Besides, Matthew wanted to introduce Lavinia. Mary had nodded to herself at the obvious fact and folded the letter up into impossibly small pieces before tossing it in the wastebasket by her vanity.

Mary couldn't understand why she was so bitter about him bringing a girl to her birthday. Perhaps she had wanted it to be just the three of them and various guests, as always. But no, now there was the dreadful Amelia Bishop and Matthew's...whatever she was.

Mary returned from Julia's, however, and felt the familiar dread rise up in her stomach as she thought about the ball that would be given in honor of her eighteenth birthday only four days away, and the guests that would be there. She had spent hour after hour with her seamstress fashioning the dress, and long afternoons with her mother who schooled her how to properly accept a proposal. The pressure of having both Peter and Matthew at Downton at the same time was overwhelming, although she couldn't quite understand why. She would have to bear it.

* * *

All eyes were on Mary the night of June 27th, and as Matthew finished introducing Lavinia to his mother and cousins, he tried to spot her.

"Ah, there she is!" he said, pointing discreetly in Mary's direction as she took a sip of champagne next to a tall fellow he vaguely recognized.

_"_Where?" Lavinia asked, craning her neck out towards the bobbing heads.

"Come, I'll introduce you." he said, and she took his arm, walking beside him until they found Matthew's cousin.

Mary felt as if someone were watching her, and turned from her conversation to see Matthew walking towards her, a pretty girl with strawberry hair holding his arm in hers.

_"_You must be Ms. Swire!" Mary said, her voice higher than she would have liked, smiling widely.

"Oh please, call me Lavinia."the girl said in a small voice, although it was warm.

Mary smile did not break. "Very well, but only if you'll call me Mary." she looked up to Matthew and gave him a more natural smile in welcome. "I'm so glad you could come."

"Of course I came. Happy birthday." he smiled back at her.

Lavinia unlinked her arm from Matthew's and took a step forward. "I've heard so much about you from Matthew."

Mary raised an eyebrow. "Oh? All good things, I hope!"

Lavinia's brow furrowed. "Of course!" she said, as though horrified at the thought that they wouldn't be.

Mary set down her champagne and clasped her hands together as the orchestra struck up a new tune. "I'm afraid I have this dance reserved. Would you excuse me?"

"Of course. And happy birthday!" Lavinia chirped. Matthew smiled and watched Mary walk off before turning back to the girl on his left.

"What did you think?" he asked.

Lavinia grinned. "I think she's marvelous!"

* * *

Mary swept through her guests, searching furiously for a partner until she was tapped on her shoulder. She turned and Henry standing before her, tall and handsome, with no Amelia in sight.

"Dance with me?" he asked, and she nodded quickly before he led her out.

Matthew turned his eyes to watch her as Lavinia began to talk with some of Mary's friends. He made polite enough conversation with them, but found his gaze and thoughts always traveled back to _her. _She was a vision, the blood red of her dress setting off her ebony hair and brown eyes as she twirled in the arms of every young man in the room. They all wore the same dazed expression after releasing her from a dance, as if it was the happiest day of their life, and Matthew smirked at their all-consuming adoration. They hadn't known her as a skinny little girl who had cried after falling from her horse, or pitifully in an upper story window as her brother and cousin left for school in September.

For the first time that evening, he saw her step off the dance floor again and head in search of a glass, which was handed to her almost immediately by someone Matthew knew from his days at Eton. _Probably goes to Cambridge, _he thought with disgust. Excusing himself from Lavinia and encouraging her to dance with Henry, who was also free, Matthew made his way across the room to find Mary.

She had taken a seat, her feet crying out in her red shoes, and she sipped her punch as daintily as she could, wanting to down the whole glass in one go. She looked up and sighed inwardly as she saw yet another pair of male legs approach her, and raised her head in a forced pleasant expression, only to be greeted by the last face she expected to see.

"Matthew!" she exclaimed, sitting up straighter in her seat as he took one beside her.

"Having fun?" he joked, trying to tenderly rekindle their once inseparable friendship which seemed, for some reason, to be under some strain.

She nodded, sipping her punch. "It's so frightfully hot in here!" she admitted, fanning herself.

He nodded. "Yes well, would you dance with me?"

She looked up sharply. "Lavinia wouldn't mind?"

He shook his head. "She's dancing with Henry. Come on, I'll spin you and the air will cool you off."

Mary laughed nervously, rising to her feet. "Only don't make me dizzy. I'll fall."

He held out his arm to her and she took it, cursing her hand for shaking. "I won't let you fall." he promised, and she felt her stomach drop.

Mary found herself shivering as his hand found her back, and felt suddenly cold. His hand held hers so very gently, and she felt as if she were floating as he guided her in the dance. She wasn't sure how her feet remembered it, because she certainly didn't. Not when he was looking at her like _that. _She wasn't blushing, and she didn't know why. She was sure that all the blood had, in fact, left her face. He couldn't mean it. He couldn't. He had brought _Lavinia Swire _to the ball.

"You look very beautiful, did anyone ever tell you that?" Matthew asked in a quiet voice as he spun her around.

For some reason, Mary felt her knees go weak as he said it and he pulled her back into him at the end of the turn. He was being amiable and friendly, she convinced herself. She shook her head. "Once or twice."

Matthew smiled and she felt his fingers spread out slightly over her back. "It's strange to think how much we've all grown up, isn't it?"

Mary swallowed bravely and met his blue eyes with a nod, momentarily forgetting a step which he skillfully followed, nothing looking amiss for her audience.

"If you really want Peter Cross, I'm happy for you. He's a good chap."

Her hand shook in his and her chin trembled. Mary fought herself fiercely. "Maybe. I'm never quite sure about him."

Matthew smiled, his expression shockingly calm. "Ah, I see."

He spun her around, and she felt dizzy. "What is it?"

"Your brother told me Peter was planning to propose."

Mary missed a step again, and Matthew caught it. "That doesn't mean I have to accept him."

Matthew looked at her with concern. "But you will, won't you?" The music ended rather abruptly and Mary momentarily continued dancing. She felt sick.

"I think I've had too much champagne."

He held her arm more tightly. "Come on, let's get you outside, you need some air."

She protested, but once out on the terrace adjoining the ballroom, she inhaled deeply and felt infinitely better. After making sure that she wasn't about to faint, Matthew moved away from her, pacing the terrace and watching the others dance happily inside the ballroom from the large glass windows.

"I will have to accept him when the time comes." Mary said suddenly, gripping the stone of the terrace railing tightly with white-knuckled hands. Matthew looked over at her and came closer. Putting a hand on her elbow, he looked into her eyes earnestly.

"Only if that's what you want."

She flung her hand up angrily. "Don't you see, Matthew? This is my one chance, the choice that will please Mamma and Papa! _I _don't have a choice! I'm a woman!"

Matthew shushed her quietly and took her hand. He noticed that she had tears in her eyes. "I'm paraded and made up to look like a china doll for others to play with and gaze at, and it makes me feel ridiculous."

"You're not a doll to me. You're made of darker stuff." Matthew joked, attempting to comfort her. It worked. She smiled and wiped at her few tears.

"Ah, you really think so?"she said with a shaky, thick laugh.

"You're much more than a woman, Mary Crawley." The formality of her name made the situation oddly more intimate. Her fingers stilled in their task and Mary found herself hopelessly looking up at him, at his blue eyes lit up by outward pouring light. Her voice was caught somewhere in her throat and as he continued to fix her with that piercing gaze she felt her pulse quicken.

Matthew felt rooted to the spot. His eyes locked with his cousin's which widened as they met his. Her cheeks were not flushed, they were pale and luminous. Whether it was from the light oozing from the large windows or from some internal spark, he couldn't tell. He saw tension in her throat as she fought to contain something, and a tightness in her that left her also glued to the spot on which she stood.

There was a terrible moment in which everything seemed to freeze. Then Matthew took a step towards her, saw her shoulders flinch at the sudden movement and her hands slowly come down from her face. They trembled.

Mary found herself drawn to him, and after he took the first step forward she too leaned forward, her heels slightly lifting off the ground at the motion. At her sides, her hands shook and battled against her to lift up and take touch him somehow. But that turned out to be unnecessary as her cousin's came up instead, taking hold of her arms below the shoulders as she leaned forward.

"Mary, I-"

"Yes?"

"-want to-"

Here he grasped her more firmly and drew her closer, and her head naturally tipped back in anticipation of his coming down, which it did. They hovered there for the smallest second, and the wait caused Mary to touch his arm with her hand, reassuring him before his lips lowered further and brushed against hers.

Mary's eyes, which had closed before the beginning of their kiss, flashed open and looked to his closed ones. She was overcome with the joy of it, even as he released his grip on her arms and began to step back. She smiled against his lips and he laughed slightly against hers, but all too soon he had broken them apart and she stood there, wilting and putting a hand on the stone railing for support. It was new, and exciting, chaste and exploratory. And oh, so wonderful!

Matthew longed to reach out to her again but held himself fast, breathing heavily despite the short and sweet nature of their kiss. Now he noticed her flush when their eyes met again, although the smile vanished at the sound of a voice drifting nearer to them.

"Matthew?" it called softly, "Matthew?"

_"Lavinia" _Matthew said under his breath, and he saw Mary's jaw set. She stood up and squared her shoulders, shaking herself and masking any emotion she was feeling with a smile.

"Of course!" she said, and took another protective step away from him, feeling her cheeks heat and her heart bounce in her chest.

"I-we need to-"

Mary shook her head and waved a hand at him and made to turn around as she saw Lavinia round the corner, smiling as she located them. "No, don't-"

"Mary!" he hissed at her, but she gave him a sharp look.

"Just forget it, Matthew!" she said steadily and turned fully, walking at a quick pace back into the ballroom even as she heard Matthew explaining something to Lavinia.

Mary felt faint as she entered the ballroom and went immediately in search of somewhere to sit, if only for a moment. Her entire body felt numb and exposed, and her eyes darted around the room until they found Matthew leading Lavinia back inside on his arm.

His expression looked just as shaken as hers, and Mary saw him move his head apologetically when Lavinia asked him something. She deflated slightly before Matthew smiled at her as best he could and led her off in search of some punch. God knew he needed some.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you so much to Cls2011 for her unending support and for patiently reading out of order chapters that I send her at all hours of the night (morning?). And thanks so much to all of you for reviewing! I try and respond to all of them and answer any questions you might have, so leave a little word if you're feeling extra generous! What do you think? Expect the next chapter to not jump any time. It will follow more or less where this one left off. _


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: I hope your Mondays went as well as could be expected! School's wrapping up, so I'll have a lot more time to devote to this now. Thank you as always to dear Carissa! Without her I would be plotting this story's twists and turns all by myself and it would be such a headache (although even with two heads working on it we're still driven crazy by it). Anyway, enjoy!_

**Chapter V**

Mary undressed numbly, without thought, wordlessly completing the task with Anna's assistance late at night, after all her guests had gone, and the house was again still and silent. Dutifully, she had stood at the door as they filtered out into the moonlight, smiling and nodding in thanks as they bid her goodbye and wished her a happy birthday. All the while a slowly building pressure grew inside her, filling up her lungs and throat and forcing her to take calm, steadying breaths between farewells. She did not think she would be able to bear it when, soon enough, she saw Peter approach her. There was a confidence in his gait which irritated her, a sense of entitlement and expectation that set her teeth on edge.

Noticing her mother glance in her direction as she spoke with a friend, Mary looked up and flashed Peter with a carefully contained yet brilliant smile.

"Lady Mary," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. She pulled it back as soon as his lips had left it.

"Have you enjoyed yourself?" she asked, pursing her lips and raising her chin, defiant against every screaming instinct that told her to run up to her room, away from it all, and finally confront what had happened only an hour before.

He nodded. "Very much. And you, how is it to be eighteen?"

"I hardly know, I've only been it for three hours now." Mary responded, aware that her voice was a touch too biting, but not able to soften it.

He smiled smugly. "It does bring about many new opportunities. You're quite grown up now, I suppose!"

She bit the inside of her cheek as she saw Matthew speaking with Henry out of the corner of her eye. Her gaze moving back to Peter, she released the skin of her cheek, tasting blood. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean!"

He frowned slightly. It wasn't his fault, really, Mary reasoned with herself. After all, she had played her part to perfection: the debutante, the girl setting out to procure a husband. No doubt he was confused by her bitter demeanor.

"Mary, my dear, we're leaving." Violet said, interrupting them, and Mary made a mental note to thank her for the timely intervention later. Excusing herself from Peter's awkward conversation, she moved to her grandmother, taking her gloved hands and leaning forward to receive the older woman's soft kiss.

"Thank you so much for coming, Aunt Rosamund." Mary said with a more genuine smile this time, moving to kiss her aunt's cheek.

"Nonsense, my dear, it isn't every day a girl turns eighteen!" her aunt trilled, squeezing her niece's shoulders lightly.

Mary laughed. "Everyone keeps saying that! I only wish I knew what it meant!"

Her aunt chuckled with amusement before her mother interjected, placing a hand on Mary's arm. "Hurry up with your goodbyes, you must be exhausted."

Mary nodded, sighing with the realization that she was, in fact, quite tired; although if it was from the dancing, or the blizzard of emotions now storming inside her, she wasn't sure.

She turned and watched her aunt and grandmother go outside to their waiting car, then closed her eyes for a moment as she heard Lavinia's giggle from behind her. Taking a fortifying breath, Mary turned around again to find the girl next to Henry, which surprised her. She was laughing happily at something he had said, and Mary's gaze was so focused on her glowing hair and rosy cheeks that she jumped at the male voice clearing his throat in front of her.

She met Matthew's eyes quickly before averting her own, her fingers coming up to fiddle with her long, beaded necklace out of habit.

"Mary?"

She cursed the fact that he had no need to use her title, wishing that at least then she could have hidden behind the veil of propriety, knowing that the impersonal nature of the formality would somehow make her feel safe and protected.

She looked up to him, although purposefully avoiding his eyes, knowing their clear blue would cause her to lose all ownership over her person in an instant.

"Leave it alone, Matthew."

She could tell, even as the words left her lips, that she had wounded him. Matthew's posture stiffened, and that confirmed it, and she clenched her other hand tightly against her side, furious with herself.

"I don't know what to do." he admitted with a sigh of defeat, and the simpleness of his admission made her finally meet his gaze, which she realized had been fixed intently upon her. Her eyebrows came together in worry, or confusion, and she pursed her lips again.

"There's nothing to do. It's...forgotten." she forced a smile, the action so painful to perform that her jaw clenched against it.

"Mary! It's not! It can't be!" he exclaimed in a whisper, before Lavinia's voice called his name and he broke away from his cousin. The small turn of his head in Lavinia's direction gave Mary a quick moment of relief, and she exhaled softly, her hand relaxing by her side.

Mary was sure her goodbye to Lavinia was much too bright, but she didn't care. Matthew's quick whisper that he would come to see her tomorrow, and her flat refusal were etched upon her as she watched his form retreat into the darkness, her fingers twisting together as he followed Lavinia into the automobile on his way to return her home.

And now, within the comforting walls of her bedchamber, she finally was permitted to strip off layers of clothing that had stifled her, and let the pins fall from her hair. As the soft cotton of her nightgown enveloped her she held herself, knees tucked under her chin like the child she still felt she was as Anna pulled her hair back with a ribbon.

She shook her head when her observant maid delicately asked her if anything was wrong, and called out a soft goodnight as the door closed behind her. Fully alone, Mary sighed deeply and rested her elbows upon her vanity, gazing with intent at her own reflection.

_What had they done? _It had been so perfect, so new, so..._right. _It hadn't felt like that when Peter had kissed her. No, this was different. There was something behind it, something she couldn't decipher. It was a feeling, but it was not love. It couldn't be. Mary shook herself and almost laughed. One kiss most certainly did _not_ signify love. God, how silly she was being! It meant nothing! She could forget it. She could put it behind her by morning, she told herself rationally.

And with that she blew out her candle, walked to her bed, pulled the sheets up over her and prayed that things would look better in the morning. Isn't that what her mother always said?

* * *

Matthew kept his promise and did not come to see her the next day, nor the next. He was true to his word, no matter how hard he battled the need to see her. Because it hadn't been nothing. Because he couldn't forget it, no matter how hard he tried. A week passed, and then another, and the need to see her morphed into fear of seeing her. He had even excused himself from their weekly dinner at the Abbey, feigning a bad case of hay fever. But as he and Henry's scheduled trip to Europe drew nearer, Matthew knew he could not put it off any longer.

And so, the day before their departure, Matthew walked up to the "Big House" as they had called it for as long as he could remember. He was glad to find her outside, sitting predictably on the bench she had frequented for all the time Matthew had known her. He walked up to her, allowing his footsteps to be heard, knowing she hated surprises.

Mary looked up, squinting against the late afternoon sunlight, to see her cousin walking up to her. She had yelled at him once, long ago, for sneaking up on her here, and smiled to herself as she saw him purposefully tread on a fallen twig to alert her of his arrival.

She had forbid him to come, yet she found herself to not be upset by him being there as she thought she would have been. But she was shy, and it was a state she was not familiar with.

"Hello." he greeted her gently.

"Hello." she echoed, nodding her head for him to sit down.

Her cousin glanced at the bench, then back at her. "Would you mind if we walked? I find it's easier to talk that way."

Mary laughed nervously and set her novel aside, brushing off her skirt and standing up from her seat. He didn't offer her his arm, and she was glad of it. For what seemed an interminable amount of time, neither said a word. Matthew heard the swish of her dress as the fragrant July breeze blew against it, and their gentle inhales and exhales, but nothing more. They made a meandering path across the lawn, her hands clasped in front of her, his behind him. She looked out over the rolling hills while he looked either at the grass or the waving fabric of her skirt.

Matthew was beginning to seriously regret having come. The ache that bore into him even with her silent presence next to him was almost too much, and with no words to address the feeling, he was swiftly becoming more and more frustrated.

There was a rumble overhead as the light began to fade, and Matthew looked up to see the sky darkening above them, the prelude to a summer storm.

"Hadn't we better head back?" he asked, turning to look for her home, which was smaller in the distance. He looked around and saw a small line of trees to his left, which looked to be the best shelter they would be afforded with should it start to rain.

Mary looked up and squinted at the sky. "I suppose so, yes." she conceded, and turned lazily around, one foot slowly coming in front of the other, her hand swinging at her side.

"Nothing ever changes here." Matthew mused, inhaling deeply and looking around appreciatively. It was the exact same country and view he'd had since...forever. Downton was woven into his veins like the rest of his family, intrinsically there and never-changing.

"I change." Mary said softly, her eyes looking out into the distance.

Matthew nodded. "Yes, you've changed. We've all changed, I think."

She lifted the hem of her dress to ease her path. "Do you think you've changed?"

He looked at her curiously from the corner of his eye. "In what way?"

"Oh, I don't know...changed taste in books, music, politics...things you used to like but don't anymore…"

His brow furrowed. "Of course I have!"

Mary's look that met his now was one of frustration and earnestness. He stopped walking. She stopped as well, and bit her lip. There was a moment of nothing, then she seemed to realize something and held her chin up, continuing to walk on even as the sky rumbled above them.

"How's Lavinia?" she asked casually. "She's terribly sweet-"

"Oh, stop it!" he cried suddenly, frustration overtaking him. "Why must you always speak in riddles?"

Mary looked away from him, swallowing. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was simply asking after Lav-"

Matthew ran a hand over his forehead and stamped his foot for her to stop. She did, but looked anywhere but at him.

"Mary, Lavinia and I...we aren't...I brought her specifically to meet you, that is all." he explained in as calm a manner as he could muster. "You asked in your letter if...we were 'courting' but that's...no."

She tilted her head slightly, suddenly wanting to see his eyes. He looked up at her. She smiled encouragingly. A sharp burst of thunder broke above them, and droplets began to fall sporadically.

Matthew motioned for them to continue, and she followed his lead. Garnering up her courage, she finally spoke.

"Even so, we can't go on with it, you know."

Matthew stopped again. "What do you mean?"

Mary sighed impatiently. "Don't you see, Matthew? What could possibly come of it?" she flung a hand in the air for emphasis.

He gasped in shock at her words. "We kissed, Mary! That has to mean _something, _doesn't it?"

"Not really! We can just forget about it, that's easier. We've always been friends, Matthew. Please, let's not make it complicated."

He laughed bitterly. "Oh, so you had too much to drink and we kissed, and to continue on would be to destroy our friendship as it now stands?"

She inhaled sharply. "Ah, that's it? So I've ruined everything!"

He nodded emphatically. "If you consider it a mistake then yes, Mary, you've ruined everything!"

She hit her hands against her sides and blinked as it began to rain more heavily. "Oh, Matthew, you always make things so black and white!"

"I think this _is _black and white! Everything's changed, and you're too stubborn to admit it, or to acknowledge that it might mean something."

Mary's façade broke, and she coughed a dry sob as the truth of his words hit her. She opened her trembling lips to say something, but another clap of thunder broke out above them and he sighed in resignation, putting a light hand on her back as they ran back to the Abbey.

"Will you come in?" she asked at the front entrance as he stood there in front of her, holding his hat up in an attempt to shield himself from the rain.

Matthew shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

She nodded, looking up at him and feeling dread rise up in her gut. She was horribly afraid of what the next few moments would bring. "Well...goodbye."

He looked at her almost pleadingly, and for an instant she thought he would kiss her again. He thought so, too, and so he straightened himself and took a step back from her -protecting them both.

"Goodbye, Mary."

She turned around first, knowing to watch him walk away from her would be more painful than doing so herself, and rushed back inside and out of the storm. As she unpinned her hat and took an inventory of her soaked things, Henry walked out from the side drawing room, where he had probably been taking his tea. He looked her over from head to toe and smiled with mirth.

"What's happened to you?"

Mary breathed deeply. "Nothing, I was just...with Matthew."

He looked up as she pulled off her gloves. "Oh? Is he here? Why didn't you invite him to stay?"

His sister shook her head. "No, he's left. He didn't want to stay. We...quarreled."

"I know."

Mary looked up sharply. "You do? What did he say?"

"Nothing. It was obvious from the way you two were behaving." he fixed her with a concerned stare at her obviously distressed state.

Mary moved to go upstairs, but he put a hand on her arm. She looked at him questioningly.

"It's more than a quarrel, isn't it?"

She shook her head with a forced laugh. "Of course not! And besides, we've mended it." She pulled her arm out from his grasp and held her head high as she walked up the stairs. "I know it's early, but I'll dress for dinner all the same. Perhaps we can play a game of chess before Carson rings the gong?"

He nodded absentmindedly as he watched her go. "If you'd like."

* * *

Apart from their terse goodbye the day before Henry and Matthew's departure for Italy, Mary did not speak to Matthew for the entirety of July and August. Henry faithfully sent her postcards from every city they visited, and she displayed them proudly on her vanity, turning them over occasionally as Anna dressed her or gathered her hair up to read his familiar hand. Their parents were, of course, oblivious to what had transpired between Mary and Matthew at the beginning of the summer, and it was Isobel who was the first to notice the lack of any communication between the two.

"Matthew said to tell you he saw your friend Audrey in Rome, Mary." she said one evening at dinner, smiling at the girl she had grown more fond of over the past years. "I thought it was funny he shouldn't tell you himself. But I imagine you've had plenty of letters from him as it is. Perhaps he forgot."

Mary smiled indulgently at Matthew's mother. "Yes, that must be it. I'm sure you're right."

In truth, Mary had received exactly one postcard from Matthew. She wasn't sure why he had sent it. He certainly had no reason to, not after she had treated him. But, there it was. This card she hadn't put up on her dressing table. Rather, she used it as a bookmark, or tucked it in the drawer among bows and hair pins. Mary didn't know what to make of it, and wondered if he had maybe sent it by mistake.

_Mary,_

_You would love Paris. It's everything everyone says. Henry and I wish we'd listened when you tried to teach us French. We could really use it. I hope your summer has been pleasant. _

_Matthew_

* * *

_A/N: There you go! Not a very happy chapter for M/M, but I'd still love to hear what you thought, as always! Your responses have been so encouraging and amazing thus far and I'm really happy to see people like this! _


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: This chapter was a lot of fun to write, so I hope you'll enjoy! _

**Chapter VI**

As a soft, cool June melted into a bright, warm July Mary finally forced herself to confront her feelings. She was not practiced in the art. As a girl she had learned, from an early age, that it was infinitely easier to keep certain sentiments locked inside her. That way, tucked inside a secret chamber of her heart, those emotions could never come out and trouble her. It had become easy to dismiss them, and so she was unfamiliar with the more feared and fragile states of the heart.

When Matthew had kissed her on the terrace it was as if the iron clasp she had locked around her own heart all those years ago had suddenly shattered. In one single kiss an ocean of thoughts and feelings previously left untouched had burst forth from her, and it was only afterwards, when she reflected on the warm summer kiss, that she realized the iron had probably begun to rust and weaken long ago.

She should have expected it, really, when August came and Peter proposed. It had been a long time coming, after all.

_"No?" _he had cried in disbelief. _"I don't understand, Mary! What other options do you have? Isn't this what you've been waiting for?"_

She had been affronted at that. _"Certainly not! I'm touched, Peter, really I am," _she had said, and meant it, _"but I cannot marry you."_

_"There must be someone else then! You're a fool to refuse me, Mary."_

_"There is no one else!" _Mary had cried, _"And if you think I would choose to marry a man who called me a fool, you're mad!"_

Later that night she had stayed awake long after everyone had gone to bed. He had said he didn't understand her. She didn't understand herself. It _was _what she had been waiting for, what they had all been waiting for. Mary paced her room. It was unlike him to lose his temper. He had always been so kind, if not a bit bold, with her before. And there _was_ no one else! What had she done?

Suddenly Mary thought of the postcard tucked in between the worn pages of her novel. It was puzzling, and she still didn't know quite what to make of it. And so, for the first time, Mary allowed herself to act on instinct rather than reason, and found that in remembering Peter's words, the first person that came to mind was Matthew.

Matthew. The boy who had carried her back home when she fell and twisted her ankle, the one who had helped her beat Henry at badminton, the man she had danced with. Matthew, whom she had kissed. If there was any "_other", _it was Matthew. And the thought terrified her.

It would spoil everything. She would hate to lose him as a friend if something were to go wrong. Growing up, he had been her constant companion along with Henry. And to think of having to give that up was unbearable.

So as the August days grew cooler and their return from Europe drew closer, Mary found herself dreading it. It meant she would have to wind up her heart again. She would have to keep her feelings at bay. Because even though they had kissed and she had felt her soul cry out in joy, to surrender her fragile heart to him would put everything in a state of jeopardy.

* * *

"But I refused him," Mary said dryly from her spot on the cedar trunk at the foot of Henry's bed. He waved her off it so he could put clothing back which he had taken with him to Europe, and raised an eyebrow.

"You did? Do Mamma and Papa know this?"

Mary nodded, wrinkling her nose in suppressed mirth at the hideous Italian silk scarf Henry had given her which rested in her lap. "They weren't pleased, but I had told Peter I would think about it, and I did."

Henry shook dirt from a pair of boots and Mary chuckled softly. Her brother, having finished with his unpacking for the time being, turned his attention fully to her. "And?"

She shrugged. "I couldn't imagine being with him seven days a week, running his house...and I'm young! I have time, I think!"

She sobered, and looked at him desperately, fingers intertwining and fiddling with a beaded bracelet. "Have I made a mistake?"

"No," he said softly, leaning over to place a kiss on her head instead of his customary ruffling of her hair. "I'm proud of you."

"Proud?" Mary scoffed, although she was touched by his words."It could have been the only one I'll ever have."

"Don't be naïve, Mary." Henry laughed openly. They heard the muffled voices of their parents from down the corridor and he stepped out of his room. "Are Matthew and Isobel coming this evening?" he called.

Mary stepped out beside her brother in time to see her mother's exhausted sigh and weak glare at her son. "How many times must I tell you not to shout in the house, Henry?"

Robert chuckled from beside her and put a placating hand on her shoulder. "The boy will never learn, Cora." Turning to his son, he wrinkled his brow. "We sent a note, but Carson hasn't brought one back yet as far as I know."

"Won't Matthew be tired from the journey?" Mary asked. "He hasn't seen his mother in a full two months!"

"_I'm_ not so tired," Henry pointed out. His father looked at Mary curiously.

"I'm surprised, Mary. I thought you would insist on seeing him after nearly a whole summer of being apart!"

Mary smiled with a shrug. "Of course I do, Papa! I just wouldn't want to wear them out…"

* * *

It was not so terribly difficult to see him again. In fact, Mary found herself wishing that she could welcome him home more warmly, as she had her brother. But there it was again - that same, unfamiliar shyness that confused her. When Matthew and Isobel walked in the front door of Downton that evening to join their family for dinner it was as if Mary had been thrown back to the evening in 1903, meeting him for the first time. She smiled cordially and dipped her head in acknowledgment of his safe return, offering some words of welcome that she couldn't remember later. Her gaze had been so focused on his face, which was more tanned, thinner than it had been two months ago. He looked so grown up, so sure of himself.

They were both more or less adults now, she should be able to handle him with as much detachment as she had employed in refusing Peter! But there it was, that sly shyness that had snuck up on her since June and would not go away.

Dinner was a pleasant and relatively relaxed affair. They all made easy conversation, listening mostly to Henry and Matthew's animatedly delivered stories from their travels (which Mary knew had been substantially edited in order to be considered appropriate for a family dinner).

When they all went through she immediately engaged her dearly-missed brother in a game of chess. Henry had taught her himself on a Christmas vacation when he lacked a partner, but over the years she had grown to be a formidable opponent, and now she won the game in a mere fifteen minutes.

Bitter over his loss, Henry went to his catch up with his dear grandmother, whose dry wit and spark he had inherited, while Matthew approached Mary as she reset the pieces. Her eyes bright with merriment over her triumph, Mary greeted her cousin with a warmth in her expression that he had missed.

"May I join you?" he asked delicately, motioning to the chair opposite her.

She raised an eyebrow and with a boldness she could only attribute to the wine from dinner, said "Are you up to the challenge?"

He chuckled under his breath as he took a seat, some of his anxiety lessened by the fact that she seemed unperturbed by his presence, even as hers tortured him. "You know me, Mary, I've never been good at strategic games."

Mary finished positioning the pieces. "Well, then you shall have to learn!"

He looked up from the glass-etched board to her and was grateful for the opportunity to look at her as she adjusted herself. Her cheeks were rosy from laughing with her brother, her dark hair gathered into an ornate yet understated (was it possible?) chignon, and then her deep caramel stare as his eyes met hers; her beauty shocking him as it always had.

"Matthew!"

"What?" he sputtered, knowing he had been caught by her.

"White always moves first."

* * *

Henry looked up from his conversation with his grandmother and glanced in their direction, smirking when he saw Matthew tentatively move a pawn forward and then his sister counter the move with a confident one of her own. Violet noticed his lapse in attention and followed his thoughtful gaze, finding as his focal point her granddaughter and young cousin.

"Ah, ah!" Mary chided when Matthew took his fingers off a piece he had been considering moving.

"Mary, it's a pawn!" he exclaimed in quiet outrage.

She shook her head and wagged a finger. "There are rules to every game," she said in a firm tone, "you must play by them."

Henry jumped slightly when he felt his grandmother's sharp tap on his knee with her cane. She settled back in her chair and smiled smugly. "Let's leave them to it, shall we?"

* * *

Mary moved her knight and took another of Matthew's pieces, plucking it up with her index finger and thumb and carefully adding it to the growing line of white pieces off the board. He moved another piece, rather reluctantly, only to hear the click of one of hers as it moved forward to surely take it at her next turn. Matthew was now seriously contemplating one of his five remaining pieces, determined to not lose so embarrassingly to her.

"Matthew?"

"Mmmh?" he looked up absentmindedly, noting the softness of her voice.

"Why did you send me the postcard?"

Resigning himself to the fact that he would lose to her no matter how well he played, Matthew moved his piece. Mary's fingers floated towards her pawn, then reconsidered before touching it. Maybe she should let him win, just this once. She scanned the board as he formulated a response, noting with a practiced eye that he still had a chance if she played her part well and lost gracefully.

Matthew frowned slightly. "I meant what I said."

Mary raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "That I would enjoy Paris?"

Matthew gave a frustrated sigh as she moved her piece, then cheered up at the new opportunity it afforded him. "Well, yes, that. But not only that, you know." With a sense of accomplishment he made his next move on the board. It was risky, but with her pieces arranged the way they were...he would have an equal shot.

"What else?"

He looked up to find her staring at him, her dark stare so penetrating yet gentle that he was defenseless against it. He fiddled with one of the black pawns he had managed to take from her, turning it over between his fingers. "We missed you. It wasn't the same Summer without you."

"I...missed you, too." Mary said carefully, averting her gaze slightly and looking back to the checkered board.

"You did?"

"Of course."

Mary moved another piece. Matthew saw her careful strategy playing out before him and smiled to himself. She was letting him win. "I hated that we fought, Mary, before I left. I wish we hadn't parted like that."

She exhaled tiredly and reevaluated her current pieces, knowing her next move. "I know."

He leaned closer to her over the chessboard and she shot a glance out toward the rest of the party, knowing that they were safely positioned in the shadows of the drawing room yet still feeling hopelessly exposed. "I was frightened of it too, at first."

Mary swallowed nervously. Could he read her so well? Of course he could, he'd always been able to.

"Frightened?"

He chuckled softly at her whisper. "But I don't think it was a mistake. If you think it was, Mary, we'll forget it ever happened." He moved back so he was more solidly on his side of the table and smiled gently. "But I think maybe, deep down, you don't."

"Check."

He looked down at the board. Moments before he had been sure of a victory, albeit one subtly given to him by his opponent. He looked back up at her and saw her usually cool demeanor seemed slightly ruffled. A dusky pink was creeping into her cheeks and the tip of her tongue came out to moisten trembling, dry lips.

"It wasn't a mistake, Mary. And I think...if we're not careful, it might happen again." He saw her breath quicken, her chest rising and falling imperceptibly faster against the constraints of her corset.

"Heavens, Matthew! Listen to yourself!" Mary said in a frantic whisper. "Anyway, it's your turn."

He played his last remaining move and then watched as his cousin, with her long slender fingers, delicately moved her black queen one space rightward.

"Checkmate," she said, but it was not with the same gleeful deliverance with which she had given it to Henry. It was almost regretful.

"Matthew, come along, it's quite late," Isobel called gently from the other side of the room, and her son and his companion jumped slightly in their seats.

"I'll be just a minute, Mother," Matthew said, and stood, helping Mary reposition the pieces as his mother and cousins filtered out into the foyer to say their goodnights.

Mary shivered as if a phial of déjà vu had been injected into her veins. She felt just as she had on her birthday when he had led her out to dance; as if they were all alone, even though they had been dancing in front of a hundred others.

"What are you afraid of?" Matthew said, his hand brushing against hers as they both placed a pawn side by side.

Mary stopped, her task finished, and turned to look at him. "That it will ruin everything. That I'll lose you if-"

"You know you'll never lose me," he said, his eyes gazing at her with such fervent adoration that Mary felt weak at the knees. "Let me kiss you again."

He held out a hand and she willingly, although mentally fighting against herself, moved towards it. His fingers found harbour at her elbow and caressed it, then spread out over the rest of her upper arm.

"Alright," she agreed in a whisper, although vaguely aware of the voices trickling in from the entryway.

Mary didn't know what she was supposed to feel when he leaned into her, her head naturally tipping up to meet his lips as they kissed again, rekindling the sweet, newborn fire from June. There were rules. Supposed-to's, and not supposed-to's. She wracked her mind, trying to find the appropriate emotion.

But there was nothing to describe it, and so she gave up, this time rising up slightly on the balls of her feet to press her lips more firmly against his. His grip on her elbow tightened, and her heart soared. She let it fly freely. How wonderful! How could she have doubted this?

"Hurry up, you two, they're waiting for you." Henry said delicately from the doorway, causing Mary and Matthew to spring apart as if electrocuted, lips pink flushed from kissing.

* * *

_A/N: I continue to be so blown away and encouraged by your lovely reviews, so send one in if you have a minute. I'd love to hear what you thought! Usual thank you to Léa, Carissa, and all of you for offering suggestions and sending me sweet little messages! _


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Hello! I know I told some of you Monday, but I managed to pull it together a bit early, so voila! _

**Yours Forever: Chapter VII**

Henry looked at the two of them: Mary, with her fingers touched to her lips, her eyes averted -Matthew, staring back at Henry with a guilty, almost apologetic expression.

"Henry, I -"

His cousin held up a hand as Matthew offered an explanation. "They're waiting. Come on."

Mary, head down, obediently walked towards her brother, avoiding his eyes, Matthew following in her wake. Miraculously, no one seemed to notice the pair's flustered state as they said their goodbyes for the evening. Matthew shared a secret look with Mary as he turned to leave, feeling a horrible mixture of giddiness and fear. He was secretly pleased to see the same emotions crossing through Mary's dark eyes.

* * *

After saying goodbye to Violet, Isobel, and Matthew, the four other Crawleys made their way back inside. Their parents went up almost immediately, claiming exhaustion, while Henry and Mary were left downstairs. A tense silence descended after their parents had gone. Henry's jaw was set, and Mary clasped her hands in front of her, twisting them while her older brother paced back and forth in front of her. She watched him go back and forth until her head hurt and finally opened her mouth to speak, thinking that was what he wanted her to do, but he waved her off.

"I'm tired, we can talk about it in the morning," her brother said in a weary voice, and directed himself up the staircase, leaving Mary at the foot of the stairs, eyebrows wrinkled in worry and lips red against her pale skin from biting them.

* * *

Mary stayed up late into the night, alternating between thinking of Matthew and their second kiss, and her brother whose reaction she was still waiting for. Henry had been terse with her, something he never did. Not ever. Oh, he would tease her and playfully pretend to be annoyed with her, but he had never yelled or dismissed her in such a way, and Mary was hurt. She rationalized that she probably deserved it in his eyes, and only hoped that the morning would wake up a better and more understanding version of her brother.

But she need not have waited till the morning. Just as Mary was finally dozing off, wrapped in the warm sheets of her bed, there was a quiet knock on the door. Knowing there was only one person it could be at this time of night, Mary roused herself from bed, donning her dressing gown in the dark, and went to her door.

Henry watched his sister's door open and her curious and tired face peek out from it, one thin-fingered hand resting on the doorframe.

"What is it?" she asked in a gravelly night voice.

"Come on," he said quietly, beckoning her out with one hand and starting down the corridor. Foregoing slippers, Mary snuck out behind him, hurrying to find him going down the staircase. She followed swiftly, her nightgown and dressing gown breezing behind her as she moved, and winced at the cold parquet under her feet.

"Where are we going?" Mary asked softly as he led her through several downstairs rooms, then smiled in recognition as she followed him down a familiar staircase.

"Don't make a mess, Mrs. Patmore will have your head," Mary warned in a normal tone as they entered the kitchen. Henry went about gathering ingredients and soon lit the stove and put a pot on to warm, unwrapping a bar of chocolate he had found and nibbling on a piece before chopping it in half and putting one half in the pot to melt.

"It's been ages since we've done this," Mary mused, and Henry nodded.

"Well, I thought you deserved a peace offering."

His sister raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He glanced at her with a smirk. "Don't be coy, you know what I mean. I was a bit short with you this evening."

Grateful that her brother had been the first to bring it up, Mary breathed a sigh of relief. "A _bit_? You hardly said a word!"

Henry continued making the cocoa while Mary perched on the table set in the middle of the kitchen, swinging her feet idly as he worked.

"I'm sorry, Henry," Mary said finally, fiddling with the corner of the table.

He frowned and dipped a finger into the pot, wrinkling his mouth when it was much too bitter. "Why are you sorry?"

Mary shrugged. "Shouldn't I be? You seemed angry."

Finally satisfied, Henry gestured to the cabinet and Mary got down from the table to find two cups, bringing them to him while he poured the steaming milk into them. Setting down the pot, he presented her with one warm cup. Leaning against the counter, he watched as she resumed her spot and they both sipped at the cocoa tentatively.

"I'm not angry," Henry said at last, smirking when his sister hissed, having burned her tongue.

She put down her cup in surprise. "You're not?"

"Was that the only time?"

Mary shook her head, "No."

Henry's eyebrows shot up, and his eyes darkened, "And that's all that's...I mean, you've only kissed?"

Mary sputtered, her cheeks flaming. "Of course that's all! What else do you think we could have-"

"Never mind," her brother said with relief, wondering if his sister even knew fully what he insinuated.

Mary took another sip of cocoa.

"I just didn't think it would happen so soon," Henry confessed, crossing one foot over the other. He watched Mary's feet swinging lightly, and smiled to himself, "you're just so young, both of you."

His sister sat up straighter, indignant. "I'm not so young!"

Henry chuckled, "Oh, yes you are!" He looked at her there, her cheeks still slightly round from childhood, her hair long down her back and tied back with a red ribbon, her long cotton nightgown and swinging feet.

"Besides," she said, now with a certain note of maturity, "I don't even know what it was."

He gave her a confused look, and she continued: "Oh, I don't understand what Matthew means or what will come of it!"

"What does Matthew think will come of it?"

Mary shook her head and flipped her hands up for emphasis. "I don't know! Certainly not marriage!"

"What's wrong with that?" Henry asked her.

Mary laughed, "We would kill each other! I'm not sure I want to marry anyone, much less Matthew!"

Finishing the last sip of his cocoa, Henry moved forward to take her cup and went to the sink to begin to wash them, smirking at the fact that Mary had not, and would probably never would wash dishes in her life.

"You don't have to marry anyone if you don't want to," he said as he finished, and wiped his hands on his pajama bottoms, earning a smirk from his sister.

She raised her eyebrows. "I see! And would Mamma and Papa agree with you?"

They walked back upstairs in relative silence, reminiscing about the other times they had gone to the kitchens in the middle of the night to make cocoa. It was always when one needed to apologize to the other, and it never failed to restore their friendship.

"I'm not a boy, I have no position here," Mary said as they walked up the staircase. "You have your duty, I suppose, and I have mine."

Henry looked at her curiously, with a respectful eye as she pulled her hair over one shoulder. "You get Downton by birth, and I was born to marry and run another family's household. That's how it works."

"If that's how you see it." Henry put a hand on her shoulders and rubbed a comforting arc over them.

Mary looked at him with a small, weary smile. "There's no 'seeing' about it."

"If you say so."

As they reached her bedroom she turned to him and sighed deeply. "Goodnight, Henry."

"Goodnight. Oh, you've got some-" he pointed to her chest, and as she looked down he flicked his finger under her nose. She laughed in tired amusement at his age-old trick. "Now, cheer up. Tomorrow's a new day."

* * *

The next day _was_ a new one, and Mary awoke with a much clearer head. She saw Matthew several times before he made to leave again for school, and with Henry's implied blessing did not feel guilty for remembering their kisses and thinking of the meaning behind them, of which she was not yet certain. With the knowledge that they had begun to bear their hearts to one another, Mary and Matthew became awkward together. Only Henry knew the real reason for their strange behaviour, and their parents watched on in amusement as Matthew uncomfortably asked Mary if she would like to walk down to the fair with him, or when Mary spilled her glass of wine at dinner when Peter Cross' name was mentioned.

Soon the day came when Henry and Matthew packed to return to school, and, for the first time since she was a small child, Mary came down and accompanied them to the station to see them off. This time was different. In May she had said goodbye to her beloved governess of ten years, and now she would be sending them off and returning to an empty house with not even an ongoing education to keep her occupied. Of course, she would continue to learn. She had promised that to the boys.

Their parents had stayed at the house while Mary was driven to the station with her brother and cousin. She had always wondered why people had romantic notions of trains and stations. To her they were merely places where she was left behind while others moved on, and so she did not smile at the couple embracing further down the platform, their child clinging to the mother's skirts, or the father sending his own son off to school.

"Come on, give me a proper goodbye!" Henry pressed as his trunk was loaded into the train along with Matthew's. Mary smiled and embraced him fondly, then leaned up to kiss his cheek and shake a finger at him, warning him to keep out of trouble. He gave a pointed look to her, placed a kiss on her forehead, and glanced at Matthew before he went to board the train, leaving the two of them there.

Matthew smiled down at her, as she was still smaller than him, and she smirked.

"What?"

"You hate saying goodbye."

She nodded. "I know."

Henry stuck his head out of a compartment further down and waved. "Hurry up, Matthew!"

Mary shook her head when Matthew opened his mouth. "Don't be silly about it, it's only till Christmas!"

"I wasn't going to be silly about it," Matthew said in a low voice. He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, close to her mouth, and when he stepped back Mary's dark eyes had softened. She held out a gloved hand and patted his arm gently.

"I'll see you at Christmas," she said, clearing her throat.

He smiled and turned at the station master's whistle, boarding the train and disappearing from her view. Mary was surprised to suddenly feel very alone, more alone than before, yet she held her head high, pursed her lips slightly, and turned to leave the station, hearing the train grumble to life behind her. But she would not watch it go. She hated watching things leave while she stayed in the same place.

* * *

Mary refused to let herself become pathetic in their absence, and threw herself into her self-taught studies, reviewing geography and even attempting to teach herself Danish. She acquired new music, and learned each piece patiently until she had mastered it. And she even managed to sit and be pleasant to the men her mother invited to dine with them over the course of the next few months, for she thought often of what she had told Henry.

She could barely contemplate what Matthew _was _to her now. Not a cousin. Not a friend. Not a lover. All three? None? The question kept her up at night, and she became even more confused when she found the attention of other men flattering. She went to a ball and flirted and was flirted shamelessly with. In these moments she forgot about Matthew, and later she tortured herself for it. But _why _was she guilty? Did she owe him her heart already? What understanding did they have? She thought of writing to him, but didn't. Yet when the day came for them to return from school she was filled with a terrible nervous sensation in her gut, and couldn't make herself go to the station to greet them, even though she was much better at hellos.

* * *

Matthew smiled at Mary as he and his mother walked into the front hall of Downton on Christmas Eve. She was clutching a book under her arm and returned a careful, small smile to him. He frowned. It wasn't quite the welcome he had been expecting. She quite nearly shunned him in welcoming her brother, walking with Henry and laughing at jokes he had reserved for her as they went in to dinner.

Matthew was placed next to Cora and Henry at the table, and barely had a word from Mary as she spoke to her grandmother throughout almost the entire meal.

When they finally went through later in the evening he sought Mary out, almost affronted by her clear avoidance of him.

"Play something, Mary!" Henry commanded from his place next to his father, and Matthew, who had been on his way to where she sat, sighed as she readily agreed, fairly jolting out of her seat and to the grand piano in the music room beside them. Within moments, the practiced, careful notes of Mary's playing drifted through to them, and Henry turned to his parents to comment on her further improvement.

"Yes, she's become quite the musician in the past few months. We haven't seen much of her," Robert said thoughtfully.

"I've never seen her quite so melancholy," Cora said in agreement, and Violet looked up to Matthew.

"Perhaps she missed Matthew and Henry," she said innocently, "it's always hard for her when the boys leave in September."

Matthew shared a look with Henry, who gave the smallest nudge of his head in the direction of the music room, and Matthew set down his glass. Walking carefully away, knowing he would not be missed, he entered the music room and saw her playing. He had never really seen Mary play before, only listened to it with Henry from upstairs, and so he was surprised at the ease and fluidity with which she approached the instrument.

She looked up when he entered, but looked down at her fingers as they flitted through a complicated passage. Matthew watched them, too, watched how they skipped up and down the delicate black and white keys, traveling at different speeds and dancing in a way that was so perfectly Mary that he almost smiled to himself.

She finished the piece and sat up straight on the bench, her hands braced beside her. "How was your journey?"

Matthew chuckled, and she looked at him, offended. "Mary, that's like asking someone about the weather. We're past all the pleasantries now, I think."

She shrugged. "You're right. What should we talk about, then, if you're so against normal topics of conversation?"

Matthew ran a hand through his hair and chuckled a little. "God, you're so stubborn. Why are you being like this, Mary?"

She smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't play games with me, Mary, I don't deserve it. Not from you," Matthew said softly, leaning against a bookshelf and watching as she turned on the bench to face him. "What's wrong? What did I do?"

Mary looked at him and pursed her lips with a desperate expression.

"When I left in September you were yourself. Now you're..._cold_!" he realized with a lurch. "You were never like that before with me."

Mary slumped her shoulders and sighed. "I'm sorry! I don't know what's wrong!" she nodded suddenly in resignation. "Well yes, I know what's wrong."

"What is it, then?" Matthew asked with frustration.

She fiddled with her fingernails while looking at a spot behind him. After a moment, she met his eyes again.

"I don't...know what this is. What we are."

He tilted his head in confusion. "'_What we are_'? What does that mean?"

She stood in frustration and clenched her hands by her sides in fists. "We haven't said anything to anyone! There is no..._understanding _between us. Just this-" she gestured between them, "just us, here. And I don't know what to do!"

"Do you think I know any better than you do, Mary?" he exclaimed, then lowered his voice as he realized the rest of the family was still in the neighbouring room. "Sometimes I think I know you better than anyone and others I'm not sure if I know you at all!"

She paced. "What do you want, Matthew? Do you want to marry me? Is that what this is all leading up to?"

He opened his mouth in shock, and she stared at him piercingly as he hesitated. "Is that...Is that what you want?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No!" She flung her arms against her sides, feeling tears creep up. "God, I don't know!"

"We're far too young to be thinking about all of that," Matthew said in a quiet voice.

She laughed bitterly. "Not really! I'm not getting any younger, Matthew, and I'm not a man. I can't wait until I _want_ to marry, I have to wait for someone to want _me._"

"Mary," he said as she paced. He took a step closer to her. "Mary, calm down."

She brushed him away. "Don't!"

He ignored her and moved to where she walked, gently holding a hand forward. Mary glanced at it, and without a moment's hesitation took it and was pulled into his chest. She was comforted instantly by being more or less in his arms, and looked up at him with her still stubbornly angry expression. "So, what are we to each other?"

"I don't know," Matthew said, a thumb on her cheek. He swallowed as she fixed him with her bourbon stare, and he saw her change in front of him. Gone forever was the girl Mary, the one who he had taught mathematics and swung up in the air on a summer beach. Now, a swan morphed in front of him, the _woman _Mary. And no matter how much he fought it, she could see it build in his eyes. In his eyes she saw she was only his: her infuriatingly complex mind, all her imperfections, her evening primrose-coloured soul, and her knowing eyes looking at the world with wings spread wide. "I don't know," he confessed again, "but I think I'm falling in love with you."

* * *

_A/N: Oh man, got a little sickening there at the end, didn't it? Oh well. Thank you SO MUCH for your responses to chapter 6! I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter as well if you have a minute to spare!_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: I'm in Italy at the moment, but I promised a chapter soon, so here it is!_

**Yours Forever: Chapter VIII**

_And no matter how much he fought it, she could see it build in his eyes. In his eyes she saw she was only his: her infuriatingly complex mind, all her imperfections, her evening primrose-coloured soul, and her knowing eyes looking at the world with wings spread wide. "I don't know," he confessed again, "but I think I'm falling in love with you."_

* * *

Mary pulled back a bit from Matthew's arms and put one hand on her hip, the other coming up to play with her long, beaded necklace, shifting the black beads between and around her fingers. She met his gaze, and saw how clearly he saw into her, how little she could hide from him.

Matthew swallowed nervously. He hadn't meant to say it, not yet anyway. He knew it was too soon for her. And it was obvious from her reaction that she certainly wasn't falling in love with him, as he was with her.

"Mary?"

She smiled unconvincingly, wanting nothing more than to rush out of the room so she could escape the weighted atmosphere. "I just…Matthew, I -"

A timid knock came at the doorway, and Mary looked up quickly, grateful to whoever it was that had rescued her from having to answer.

"Matthew! There you are!" Isobel said with a smile. "I've asked for the car to be brought round."

Matthew nodded, not quite able to school his expression as quickly as Mary had, his brow still knit in frustration.

"Yes, I'm coming," he answered, walking to her and feeling Mary follow in his wake. He continued to walk towards the door with his mother, and as Isobel said her goodbyes he turned back to Mary, trying to catch her eye for an instant. But she was too quick for him. At his slight turn she had found her brother next to her, looped her arm through his, and looked up at him to say something, completely avoiding Matthew's imploring gaze.

Feeling utterly defeated and mortified, Matthew said his own goodbyes and then left with his mother to return to Crawley House, feeling Mary's eyes following him as he went through the door and into the car, but refusing to turn around only to see her look away again.

In the days leading up to the boys' return from school Mary had slept very little. And so, on Christmas Eve, she was left awake until the early hours of the morning replaying what had transpired in the music room over and over again. She dissected it scientifically, approaching their conversation in a technical way, as she had done in her botany lessons all those years ago. What did each sentence mean? What had been said? And, more importantly, what _hadn't _been said? But, inevitably, her mind always led her to what he had said, what he had admitted, which had pierced her heart in the instant the words left his lips.

_I think I'm falling in love with you_

Was he? Could he? What was love? She thought about Matthew, about them, about herself and her own feelings, and found that she could not isolate one area of her mind and heart and call it love. She felt something for Matthew, something she could not attribute to anyone other than him, but she could not name it, could not recognize it. There was a feeling, a need and a admiration and a respect for him that she had not awarded to anyone else. Of course, she admired and respected other people, but this species of admiration and respect was reserved for Matthew. It was unique and applied only to him. _Why?_ she wondered restlessly.

Still lost in her troubled thoughts, Mary went to bed, pulling her legs up against her chest under the warmth of the blankets and wishing for the thousandth time she knew what to do. She wished there was a solution, a blueprint she could follow. Because that would make a dreadfully complicated situation infinitely easier.

* * *

Christmas Day was relatively uneventful. Mary behaved as if nothing had happened the night before, and was pleasant throughout the day. To anyone in the family, Matthew and Mary looked and acted as they always had. Their gifts to each other were always the most treasured ones of the day, and at dinner they engaged in a witty banter across the table that made the rest of their family laugh in amusement and cheer opposing sides on.

And, as Mary finished saying a warm goodnight to Isobel and Matthew, she finally had an idea of what she must do, what her blueprint would be. It was easy, it would give her time to think. And she needed that. She needed to know, to be absolutely certain, that Matthew meant what he had said and that she could accept it and respond to it.

* * *

Later during the Christmas holiday, before the annual New Years party, Matthew accompanied Henry on a walk around the estate. They went to a rarely traversed area, where the grass grew long and unkempt, swaying and cracking crisply underfoot as the boys walked through it. The sound awoke several black birds, who flapped their wings noisily and flew up into the grey winter sky, annoyed at the disturbance.

After speaking of normal, everyday things, it was Henry who brought up the subject Matthew and his sister had both been avoiding.

"Have you spoken to Mary?"

Matthew looked over at his cousin, who he had always seen as an older brother of sorts, never having had real siblings of his own.

"Yes, although she seems determined to forget it," he said with a note of bitterness.

Henry shook his head with an amused smile at his sister's stubbornness. "What did you say to her? It couldn't have been _that_ dreadful!"

Matthew suddenly found his feet and the world around him terribly interesting. After a moment's pause he took a deep breath and told Henry everything. He told his cousin how he had loved Mary for years now, only realizing the true nature of his affection for her until recently, and how Mary clearly did not reciprocate those feelings. Henry raised his eyebrow at this and made a motion with his hand for them to set off back to the house. The dead grasses continued to crunch under their boots, punctuating Matthew's words sharply.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Henry warned. Matthew turned his head sharply.

"What do you mean?" he asked, and Henry saw a glimmer of hope cross his cousin's eyes for the briefest moment before he concealed it.

"Mary may not be as cold as you think, that's all," Henry said simply.

Matthew's eyes widened. "Why? Has she said something to you? She certainly has changed..."

Henry shrugged.

"If she has, tell me, Henry! I deserve to know just as much as you do!"

Henry smiled wryly at his cousin and the predicament he now found himself in with Henry's sister. "You'll need to speak to Mary about it, only she can tell you what she feels, Matthew,"

Matthew made a frustrated cough. "She never admits to feeling anything, Henry! But I know she _does_, I see it in her eyes,"

Henry took a deep breath of his own, clasped his hands behind his back, and looked lazily up at the sky, his breath misting as he exhaled. "You can also see it in her heart, too, if you look closely,"

And so Matthew, the next time he saw Mary, looked desperately for it, for any sign of her true feelings, which she had learnt to mask so frighteningly well. Sometimes he thought he heard it in her music while he played chess with Henry in the drawing room, or in a glance at the dinner table. Mary had an extraordinary gift for playing the part of two people: a social Mary and a private Mary.

It was in this second Mary, the _real_ Mary, that Matthew saw her falter in hiding her feelings. He would sometimes see her across the dining room table, for a moment lost in her thoughts. And when she lifted her gaze and found his eyes on her she would break slightly, and he could see something more, something he had not seen in her before.

The holidays were merry, and by the time it was time for Henry and Matthew to return to school, Mary had formulated a plan, and, her plan having been approved enthusiastically by both of her parents, she relaxed slightly.

Again, Mary followed her cousin and brother to the train station to see them off and, after kissing Henry's cheek and waving him off onto the train Mary finally was left alone with Matthew. This was the moment she had been anticipating ever since Christmas, when she had spoken to her mother about March.

"Well, I suppose I should go," Matthew said, knowing that if Mary had not revealed any clue as to the truth of her feelings before, she would not choose to do so now. There would be no point in a goodbye filled with tension and unequal emotions.

Mary nodded, her fingertips fidgeting together in their soft brown gloves. She pursed her lips together quickly and inhaled as she saw him begin to turn, reaching out a hand and putting it firmly on his arm.

"No, don't go," she said, "not yet."

He turned back and looked at her curiously. Would she really choose now, as he was leaving, as the time to tell him something important? Yet he did stop, and turned back, and felt her hand tighten on his arm.

"Mary? What is it?" he asked, almost impatiently. She was torturing him with her silence.

Mary moved closer to him and looked into his eyes, hers dark and deep, his light and searching. A gloved hand moved upwards, so that her arm wrapped around to his neck and pulled slightly as she rose up to him. Mary's eyebrows came together in conflict before she gave in and closed her eyes, leaning forward to kiss him goodbye. Matthew returned her kiss chastely, expecting her to pull back immediately, and somewhat hurt that she would kiss him after how infuriatingly confusing she had been in the last two weeks.

But Mary did not pull back, even as he did. Her other hand came up to cup his jaw and his fell to her shoulder and waist, the greatest liberty had taken thus far. He couldn't help it. He felt it in her kiss, all the words that hadn't been said, that she wouldn't say, and her silent admission to him through her lips. _I know, but I can't. Not yet. I'm not ready. Please, wait for me. _

His fingers spread out slightly over the curve of her waist and she smiled against his lips, sinking further into them when the station master blew a sharp whistle and Matthew broke apart from her. He looked down at her breathlessly, hopelessly confused by her mixed messages and sudden affection. She released her grip on his arm.

"Goodbye, Matthew," she said quietly, stepping back and smiling slightly, inhaling with relief at what she had just done and what it had meant.

Ignoring the station master's whistle, Matthew stepped closer to her. "Mary -"

She shook her head with an encouraging smile, her lips pleasantly flushed and her cheeks rosy. "Go on, you'll miss your train."

He nodded, a new sensation of hope and happiness filling his chest, and bid her goodbye once more, then boarded the train and disappeared inside it. Mary looked on, waving her hand indulgently when she saw her brother's head poke out again from the compartment window. Henry blew her a kiss with his hand and she smiled, then turned and walked away, because she wasn't good at goodbyes.

* * *

_March, 1911_

A rush of green and blue passed by Mary's window as she looked out it, squinting as the sun peeked and glimmered in between the tall, shifting greenery. She turned and smiled fondly to herself at the sight of her grandmother napping peacefully next to her in the automobile. Her grandmother had been thrilled at the opportunity to come along with her granddaughter, but Mary knew the journey had been tiresome, and was only too glad when the gates came into view and they stopped while the chauffeur got out and opened them. Mary heard the creak of metal and put a hand on her grandmother's.

"Granny?" she said softly. "Granny, we're here."

Violet coughed and sputtered awake, looking around her in confusion before seeing her granddaughter. Mary was dressed in a lovely periwinkle traveling coat and gloves, and wore a similarly hued hat, setting off her complexion wonderfully. Violet smiled and looked out the car window.

"Yes, we are," she confirmed with a sigh of relief.

The chauffeur climbed back into the car and it began to move again, Mary continuing to hold her grandmother's hand as they drove up the gravel driveway and up to the house.

The house's white walls and vermillion roofs gave it the appearance of an Italian villa, and Mary loved the exotic yet simple presentation of it. She got out of the car after her grandmother and sighed in contentment, inhaling the heavy, salty sea air and feeling the wind blow her skirts and hair in every direction. Violet was speaking to the chauffeur, and so Mary went ahead, putting one hand on her hat so it would not blow away. She looked up, seeing the clear blue and cloud dusted sky, several birds flying from the roof of the house to a nearby tree.

Footsteps were heard against the gravel and Mary looked back down, smiling warmly as she saw a familiar woman walking towards her with outstretched arms.

"Oh, mademoiselle, comme t'as grandi!" the woman exclaimed, enveloping Mary in her arms and placing a kiss upon her cheek. Mary immediately felt the weight of a thousand unsaid words lift from her heart as she sunk into the comfort of the woman's arms, just as she had done ever since she was a child.

"Oh, Clara, how wonderful to see you, my dear!" Violet called as one of the servants came for the luggage and she walked over to the two of them.

Clara nodded and smiled. "I'm so glad you've both come, Madame."

Violet continued to walk inside the open door, complaining about the aches of travel, and Clara turned back to her former charge, putting a hand on Mary's arm and rubbing it up and down in a motherly way. Her brow was knit with worry, and she motioned that they move inside.

Mary followed along with her, but felt Clara's curious eye never leave her as they crossed the threshhold. Unpinning her hat, Mary set it down on a nearby table and looked around the house she had spent several summers in as a child. Before she ventured to far into the house, however, she heard the lilt of Clara's voice behind her.

"Mademoiselle, pourquoi es-tu venue toute seule sans les autres?"

Mary turned around, unbuttoning her coat and smiling brightly. "J'adore la France! Vous le savez bien!"

* * *

_A/N: Sorry, weird kind of cliffy ending...Anyway, thank you so much for reading, as always! I couldn't have done it without the lovely Cls2011, who manages to cheer me on even when we're in different countries and timezones. If you want to look up the French, by all means do (although there's no guarantee the translator will do it correctly)! Otherwise, leave it to be a mystery! Haha. Please send in a review if you have a minute, and PM me with any questions you might have, as always! _


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Ciao a tutti from Rome! Happy reading!_

**Yours Forever: Chapter IX**

Claire Lavoisier come to Downton almost eleven years previously, having been hired as a governess for Lord and Lady Grantham's only daughter. Lady Mary Crawley carried a large title for one so small. The dark haired, wide eyed little seven year old had been wary of Claire at first, annoyed at having to sit for lessons and learn a new language. With time, however, the two had grown quite close. Mary's aptitude for the French language surpassed that of both her grandmother and mother, and she took an impish delight in the fact that she could speak to Claire without anyone understanding the full of it. She nicknamed her governess 'Clara', and thought the world of her. With Clara she read English and foreign literature, learnt to draw and paint, and was taught the piano.

Clara, for her part, had always known the little Mary was much softer under her protective outer layer. Her little charge held her head high at the dinner table when she finally joined it, spoke eloquently with adults, and was every bit the embodiment of the title she carried. However, there was a childish, innocent side of Mary's person that she reserved for a select few, her governess being one of them. Clara saw it in the drop of Mary's head onto the comfort of her governess' shoulder as Clara read aloud from a novel, or in the way her still-too-small hands struggled through a passage of music and she slammed them quickly down on the ivory keys in frustration. And, of course, Clara saw it when Mary was with her brother, or with Matthew when he arrived at Downton. She allowed herself to be freer, less guarded, and it pleased Clara to see this allowance continue on with Mary as she grew.

By the time Clara left Downton Mary was almost eighteen, and they had known each other for ten years. Mary and her governess had formed an unbreakable bond over their time together, and Clara knew the girl inside and out. So it was with a heavy heart that she left Lady Mary Crawley, who had grown into her title quite fittingly, knowing she left her with a complicated problem that Mary's young heart did not know how to fix.

Claire Lavoisier knew Lady Mary Crawley simply as Mary, and she knew her well, so she did not believe the dark haired, tall woman in front of her for an instant when she said she had merely come to France because she enjoyed it.

Violet was already climbing the stairs to the second floor as Mary walked forward and past her former governess' knowing look, to the French doors at the far end of the house. She pulled them open and was met with a gust of cool, sea air. Oh, God, it was beautiful!

Mary looked down the sloping meadowlands dotted with twisting fruit trees, and the little path winding down the hill. She followed the familiar path with her eyes and found where it disappeared further downwards and lead to the rocky, sandy beach. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes for a moment, opening them again to see the blue green water lapping and crashing against the shore, a steady downbeat of renewal against the sweet melody of the wind and birds and waving grasses of La Côte d'Azur.

"I don't think that's the reason you came," Clara said, walking up next to Mary as she leaned over the edge of the balcony, her blue coat swishing and flapping against the wind.

Mary hummed in satisfaction. "Of course that's why I came!" she said indignantly, then smiled fondly. "And I missed you, of course."

Clara looked at her skeptically again. "And did you tell Matthew you were leaving?"

Mary's hands tensed in their gloves and her smile faltered. She recovered quickly. "No. And why should I? It doesn't matter to him where I go!"

Clara put a hand on Mary's back and gently ushered her inside, nodding in resignation. "Come, I'll make you both a cup of tea, you must be exhausted."

* * *

"What?" Matthew exclaimed in disbelief, taking the letter out of Henry's hand as they sat across from each other in the library and scanning it for himself. "Why?"

Henry shrugged. "She hasn't said anything to me. Perhaps she wanted a holiday..."

Matthew shook his head. "A holiday that has no determined end date?"

Henry tilted his head in recognition of the fact.

"Why didn't she tell me?" Matthew wondered aloud, his tone painful, hurt.

Henry sat back in his chair and folded the letter back up and into its envelope after Matthew had finished with it. "She must have had her reasons. Write to her."

Matthew shook his head. "She'd hate that."

Henry raised his eyebrows. "Then I will," he said with a touch of annoyance. "I'd like to know why my sister left the country without mentioning it to us and hasn't sent word except through my parents." Henry stood up, gathered his papers into his satchel, and left the table without so much as a goodbye, leaving his cousin sitting there miserably.

Matthew put his head in his hands and set his jaw firmly. Why hadn't she said anything?

Then he remembered. He remembered her strong kiss at the station, how she had pulled him to her and pressed her lips against his fervently. That had been her goodbye, he saw it clearly now. How underhanded of her! And how unlike her! Mary had never been one to run away from something, but she did it now, under the guise of wanting to see France for herself. No, it was an excuse to escape something she wanted desperately to conquer. And she hadn't had the decency to even say a proper goodbye.

* * *

16 April, 1911

_Mary,_

_How's dear Granny? I can only imagine she's keeping you on your toes. And Clara? It must be wonderful for you to see her again. I would ask you to give her my regards but I fear that was bring more heartache for her to remember all the mischief I caused. But shall I ask how have been, my dear sister? It would almost seem, in your overnight escape across the channel and lack of any communication whatsoever to us, that you would prefer I didn't enquire. Why haven't you written ? Your actions do not do justice to your character, Mary. I know you, and this type of behaviour is beneath you. Write to me, write to Matthew. Don't lock yourself up in a different house and run away from your problems. And I think, Mary, that what you ran away from isn't really a problem at all. _

_Please do not think I'm angry at you. You are my sister, and most of the time all I want is to understand you. We've never kept secrets before, Mary. Let's not start now. I just want to understand. _

_Your loving brother,_

_Henry_

Mary looked up from her brother's letter and sighed, running her thumb over the margin of the paper. She glanced out the window, watching the trees wave and the grasses blow in the breeze. His words tore at her heart and she felt sick. She had pushed away the person who knew her best in the world, and for what reason? What was she afraid of? How could she have been so heartless?!

"Is it from Matthew?" Violet asked, setting her tea down on the small table beside her and fixing her granddaughter with a curious stare.

Mary looked over and smiled tiredly. "No, it's from Henry," she said. "Why would Matthew write to me?"

Her grandmother coughed slightly and picked up her tea again. "It's none of my business, really! Now, what does Henry have to say for himself?"

Mary laughed. "He asks after your health," she replied, and picked up the letter again to scan it, "And after Clara. And then he scolds me for not telling him I was leaving."

"I'm glad someone is," Violet said, and Mary dropped the letter on the desk.

"Granny!"

Her grandmother shrugged and gestured to the chair next to her. Mary rose warily and came to sit by her, folding one hand over the other carefully in her lap.

"Mary," Violet said gently, and dark brown eyes rose to meet hers. "You did not expect to get away quite so easily, did you?"

Mary began to speak, but a wave of her grandmother's finger indicating that she was not finished silenced her.

"I've said nothing to you on the subject before now, but let me say it to you now, and without interruption." Mary nodded, and Violet continued. "I don't know what happened between you and Matthew last year, nor do I wish to, that's between you two. But I will say this: whatever it was, it will never drive you apart. You should not have run away from him."

Mary bit the inside of her cheek, fighting against every instinct within her to spill out all that had transpired between her and Matthew to her grandmother. Their kisses, his confession, the way her heart strained when she thought of it.

"Let me say this," Violet said finally, and reached out to pat Mary's hand comfortingly. "There is nothing wrong with letting yourself love."

Mary withdrew her hand and stared at her grandmother. Her eyes stung. "I did not run away from him, Granny."

Violet smiled sadly. "You did, my dear, and I suggest you run back to him before he turns his back to you."

Mary pursed her lips, and a frustrated tear escaped her eye. It trailed down the side of her nose, and Violet lifted a finger to wipe it away. "It is not too late to tell him how you feel, Mary."

Mary laughed thickly. "How did you know?"

Violet chuckled in amusement. "My dear, anyone with eyes would know!"

* * *

June, 1911

"I think I'll go down today," Mary said as she sat in the sitting room with her grandmother, looking up from her novel.

Violet glanced out the window. "It's rather warm, my dear, wouldn't you rather stay inside?"

Mary shook her head and stood, smoothing out her coral coloured skirts. "No, I think I'd prefer to be outside."

Violet nodded, looking up at her granddaughter and smiling. "As you like," she said, and Mary came forward to kiss her cheek. "And be careful!" Violet urged as Mary made to go upstairs and find appropriate clothing.

Mary turned around and laughed. "I will, Granny, I've been to the beach hundreds of times before!"

Clara looked up from her needlework as Mary climbed the stairs and looked back at the Dowager Countess, who closed her book. "I haven't seen her this cheerful since she was a child!"

Clara smiled and nodded. "She certainly seems happy, Madame."

* * *

Mary climbed down the hill, through the grasses and trees and along the dirt path until she came to where it morphed into the sand. Her parasol twirled lazily in the wind as she walked onto the sandy beach, bending to unbuckle her shoes and wincing at the hot white sand and stones. It was sunny and bright, and the sandy, pebbled beach was untouched and smooth stretching out in front of her.

This portion of the beach was relatively secluded, with a tiny peninsula reaching out to the right and a rocky inlet to the left. Mary walked up to the beginning of the wet sand and walked along it, looking behind her at the indentations that her heel and toes left upon the sand's unmarred surface.

Here, at their little beach, was where Mary could go alone and think without being disturbed. It was loud with the crashing of the waves and the swaying of the heavy trees in the wind. As she walked along Mary trailed her feet, allowing herself to venture further and further into the ocean until it covered her feet completely and pulled back delightfully against them as the tide went back. She remembered the summer Matthew and Henry had dragged her into the water against her will, although now she couldn't care less about her dress, not bothering to pick up the hem as she walked_._

_"Henry Crawley!" Mary cried as they lifted her off the ground and turned around, rushing back into the sea with her in their arms. "Boys! Put me down!" As their movement was slowed from the heavy water, she kicked her legs in frustration, unable to escape their firm grip._

_"You'll like it!" Matthew insisted even as she struggled against them. Suddenly, a sharp elbow collided with the side of his nose and Mary was instantly dropped into the blue-green water. She resurfaced with some difficulty as the weight of her skirts drew her down, but found tentative footing and reached up to Matthew with concern written on her face._

_"Is it broken?"_

Mary smiled at the memory, and found that something inside her ached when she thought of the boys, so far away from her now. She had decided to stay for the rest of the summer, because it was peaceful and warm, and as much as she loved Downton, the coast of France and their summer house there held a special place in her heart. Many precious memories were stored along the country's craggy coastline, and she felt sad remembering them.

What had they done? They had broken something, something that should have never been broken, and after the months that she had spent away from home Mary had finally come to terms with what she couldn't confront before. When she thought of Matthew and their timid kisses, she felt a tug on her heart, a pull that she hadn't known before. She hadn't been able to name it. But now she could, and she missed him desperately. She wanted to kiss him again, to have him kiss her again, to be in his arms, to give herself up to it.

The water was now nearly up to Mary's knees and she looked up with a start, realizing how far out she had wandered. She dragged her skirts up and out of the water, their weight heavy in her hands, and headed back to the shore, picking up her discarded parasol that had blown along the beach, its delicate fabric torn. In the late afternoon the waves crashed harshly against the beach, roaring and spraying, filling the air with salt and the smell of the sea.

Mary loved Matthew. And as the ocean crashed in front of her it spritzed up mist. It was hardly visible in the air but she could feel it everywhere, like a warm, awakening perfume.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and for the Highclere nominations as well! I probably won't update again, as I'll continue to travel through the middle of June, but I'll definitely try! Leave a review if you have a minute, s'il vous plaît! _


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Before you read, I'd like to give you all a HUGE thank you for nominating this story for so many Highclere Awards (6!)! That's crazy for me, especially since I never thought this would really work out, but it DID, and here we are! Just had to say that first. Happy reading!_

**Yours Forever: Chapter X**

Mary didn't sleep on the train. Instead she occupied herself with the novel in her lap, skimming its contents without internalizing any word on the page, although she continued to turn them. Violet watched with suppressed amusement at her granddaughter's jumpy state as Mary fiddled with her necklace, pretended to read, rested her head against the glass of the window and looked out as green and blue rushed past them. Mary was so lost in her thoughts of what was to come that when the train finally stopped at the station she didn't take notice of it right away. Only her grandmother's voice calling her name drew her out of her reverie, and even then she moved mechanically down the narrow aisle, onto the platform, and into the waiting car.

As her home came into view Mary's palms began to warm, although her cheeks paled. She remembered all too well her grandmother's words spoken earlier in the summer: '_I suggest you run back to him before he turns his back to you.' _Was it too late? Had he waited for her?

"Oh, I don't miss the heat of France for a minute!" Violet exclaimed as she stepped out of the automobile and onto the pea stone driveway. "Ah, Robert!" she said happily, going towards him and receiving a kiss on her cheek.

"Welcome home!" Cora's voice called as Mary stepped out of the car behind her grandmother. Her mother came to embrace her and immediately began to ask all sorts of questions about Mary's time abroad. How was Clara? Was the house in good order? And the fashions, what were French women wearing these days? Mary smiled as the situation commanded her to do and answered each question patiently, greeted her father who welcomed her back warmly, and followed them all inside.

"Where-"

"Your brother will be here in time for dinner, I think," Cora explained as Mary's eyes searched around the large hall.

"Oh," Mary said, glad that she would still have two weeks with him before he set off for school again.

"And Matthew?" Violet asked as they all moved to the drawing room for tea. Mary averted her eyes.

"He should be here tonight as well, I think," Cora said. "I've sent the invitation down, at least."

Tea arrived as they all exchanged news, and Mary was glad of the distraction, recounting a story of picking peaches and pears with the local village children and listening to any news from Downton that had been overlooked in letters. And as she listened, she again retreated into her mind, beginning to dread the evening. She was too late, she was sure of it. Her throat felt dry. Again she was furious with herself, for her obliviousness. She had doubted her love of him for so long, and now she would be too late. Tonight she would know for once and for all if he had waited for her or turned his back to her, and his initial absence at her return was making her increasingly pained with the belief that he probably had.

* * *

The boys were late. Henry's train had been delayed, and Matthew had waited for him at the station. Neither was dressed for dinner, earning withering glances from Cora and Isobel. Lord Grantham, however, waved their mistake aside, gently advising them to not let it happen again. Anyway, there was no time for them to change, dinner had been postponed long enough.

"Where's Mary?" Henry asked expectantly.

"She's still upstairs. I can't think what's gone wrong," Robert mused.

"I'll go," Cora offered, and passed her son and Matthew on her way to the staircase.

* * *

"The blue. No, the black," Mary said in distress, fingers gliding over her forehead. Poor Anna stood there, a blue dress on the bed, the black dress over one arm, a grey one on the other.

"Which...?"

Mary sighed. "I'm sorry, Anna. You pick, I can't seem to make any decisions tonight."

Her faithful maid went to the bed, set down the two dresses in her arms, and went back to the wardrobe, reaching up and taking out yet another garmet. It was from last spring, before Mary had gone to France, and she hadn't worn it since. New dresses hung on her bed and over a chair, tailored abroad, yet Anna chose this one, the last one Mary would have thought of.

"Red," Anna said simply, and walked back to her mistress, who was sitting at her vanity table, half dressed.

Mary's eyebrows came together in confusion. She'd spent the last hour debating over dress after dress, an exhausting process that left her wishing she didn't think so highly of appearances. She stood and waited as Anna dressed her for the fifth time that evening, lifting her hand to ensure her chignon was still intact. It was. Nothing was out of place. She worried too much.

"There!" Anna said in satisfaction, and Mary faced the mirror. She turned her shoulders, taking in her appearance.

A knock came at the door, and her mother's impatient voice soon followed it. "Mary, we're waiting. What's wrong?"

Mary smiled at her reflection. "Nothing! I'm coming!" Then she turned to Anna and smiled at her, too.

"You were right," she said warmly. She laughed as she walked to the door. "You're always right!"

Her maid smiled triumphantly. "You look beautiful, milady."

"Thanks to you!" Mary said, turning the doorknob. She looked back at the mess she'd created. "Oh, Anna, I'm so sorry for-"

Anna waved her concern away. "You're late!"

* * *

"There she is!" Henry exclaimed, standing up as his sister walked into the drawing room behind her mother. He smiled at Mary and embraced her fondly, kissing her cheek. "You're taller!"

Mary shrugged in recognition of the fact. Her brother always said she looked taller, as if she were still a little girl. "Matthew, come see how tall she is!"

His sister's eyes flashed for an instant before she masked her anxiety and looked to see Matthew coming to join them. He seemed quite serious, and her smile froze. He was looking at her strangely. It was a guarded look. _...'before he turns his back to you.' She_ was the guarded one! She had been schooling her emotions for years now. _He _was the one who wore his heart on his sleeve, and yet now he concealed it from her.

He opened his mouth to speak, and Mary fairly leaned forward, needing to hear whatever it was he would say to her. But then the rest of the party was moving out of the drawing room and into the dining room, and his mouth closed, the words dying on his lips.

* * *

She had never been more beautiful. He had seen her from across the room as she greeted her brother, seen the lovely tilt of her head as she spoke to Henry, the glint of her earrings, the simple shrug of her shoulders. Her every movement was devastating in its beauty, and as Matthew sat across from her at the dinner table he found it increasingly difficult to drag his eyes away from her. She spoke animatedly about her summer. He loved how she spoke with her hands. But there was a nervousness about her, her strict avoidance of his gaze and her almost over-enthusiastic descriptions of France that both amused and puzzled him.

Her skin glowed as the candlelight flickered across it, kissed by the sun during days spent on the beach or in the orchard. Her eyes sparkled as she laughed with Henry. And, once, her glittering, dark eyes found his and she stopped, he saw how her shoulders tensed, how her eyes searched his for something. Then all too soon she looked away again, as if her search had been in vain.

* * *

They went outside, the three of them, after dinner. It was a cool night, the breeze ushering September in, and Mary finally found herself alone with Matthew. Henry walked ahead with a bottle of champagne, glasses clinking together in his other hand, purposefully keeping his focus on their destination and not on his two dearest friends behind him.

"How was France?" Matthew asked, because he couldn't think of anything else to say, not when she smelled like honeysuckle and moved with the distinct grace and poise that she alone possessed.

She looked at him with an amused smile, her confidence strengthened the shadows of the outdoors and the wine from dinner. "Hot."

Matthew chuckled, embarrassed by his stupid question. "Obviously."

Mary began to play with the string of pearls around her neck and they clicked together. He loved it when she did that. "And how was England? Did it miss me?"

Matthew looked sideways at her and smiled. "Of course."

She laughed, anxiety setting in yet again as they inched closer and closer to what they really meant to say and stepped away from pleasantries. He coughed, his expression serious. "And I missed you."

"Mary!" Henry called from ahead of them, waving impatiently. Surely he'd given them enough time. His sister was looking at Matthew and didn't react to his call, so Henry sighed in annoyance and sat down in the grass, pouring himself a glass of champagne and watching the two of them as they walked in a meandering path towards him.

"You know," Mary said quietly as they walked, the meadow grasses tickling her ankles, "In French it's '_tu me manques'._"

Matthew's eyebrows came together. She swung her arm lazily as they moved, and for an instant her hand brushed against his. It was electric. Their hearts raced.

"I miss you," Mary explained patiently. "In French you say '_tu me manques' _and it...doesn't really mean the same thing." She swallowed, glad for the gentle, caressing wind that calmed her. "It means that someone is missing from you."

Matthew nodded in understanding. How right. How utterly fitting. He had lost her to France, and she had been missing from him, he'd felt it acutely. Henry had said to give her time, which he had. And now she was home.

"I missed you, too, Matthew," she said at last, all playful romance gone and only truth dancing from her lips. Now was the telling moment, now was when she would know if she had been too late. "Really. And I've thought a great deal about what you said at Christmas," she continued, choosing each word with extreme care.

Matthew looked up from his shoes at her. Now was the telling moment. Now was when he would know. "And?"

Mary continued to play with her necklace, biting her lip, looking at Henry who was pouring himself another glass of champagne. She smiled, she couldn't help smiling. And then he smiled, because she was.

"What?" she asked when he chuckled.

He shrugged and pointed to her. "What were you going to say?"

She looked at him, and their eyes met. Again he noticed her healthy, sun-kissed skin and a sly red undertone to her hair that must have come from the summer sun as well.

She laughed, not able to keep up their game. "...Me too."

"'You too' what?" he prodded, delighting in teasing her, fiercely hoping to hear her say what he'd waited so long to hear from her. And then he did, in a simple, happy tone.

"I love you."

He didn't say anything, he didn't have to. Instead he took her right hand which dangled between them in his, smoothing his thumb over it. Mary pursed her lips in an effort not to completely reveal her joy, but was unsuccessful, and she laughed. It was a intoxicatingly beautiful, liberated laugh that Matthew hadn't heard since their childhood, and he treasured hearing it again.

They neared Henry's chosen spot, hands locked together, hearts melting into each other, the glimmer of happiness evident around them as late summer fireflies blinked all throughout the field.

Henry raised his glass, finished it, and applauded, smiling sloppily at them both. "Bravo! Well done!" he said with a laugh, standing up and coming to embrace them both, kissing them on the forehead and clapping his hands over their shoulders. "Now, no more funny business. We have champagne to drink! Mary's home!"

Mary and Matthew sat down with him and took their glasses, laughing as he poured and it spilled onto the grass. They leaned back and rediscovered old memories as the sun dipped lower against the horizon, remembering the other times they'd sat here together, reminiscing over their childhood. And Henry watched, filled with love for the two, as they sat there in front of him and were finally _free. _He'd known it would be inevitable, known ever since he'd seen the way Matthew looked at her when she wasn't paying attention, that they would come to love each other. And now to see it unfold before him was wonderful. He was proud of them both, and laughed silently to himself at how awkward they were together as they sat on the hill and slowly realized that they didn't have to hide from each other anymore.

* * *

Summer faded into autumn, and then the coldness of winter swiftly followed as the months passed. For the first time, Matthew and Mary wrote to each other. Of course, they had written before, but now they really _wrote_. Now not only did they send a chronicle of the events passing through their lives while they were apart as they had before, but they also sent words straight from one heart to another. It was not saccharine. Neither was able to express with a pen what they wanted to say with their lips, yet their mutual admiration and love shone through each word, an undercurrent that carried letters back and forth.

Mary was happy, even as the harsh cold kept her locked inside. Her face lit up with each new letter, and her parents watched this change in her with satisfaction, glad that spending time abroad had lightened her disposition so considerably.

Cora, for her part, noticed the attachment between her daughter and Matthew grow stronger and viewed their increasing affection for each other with a wary eye. She loved Matthew like a son, she always had, yet she had always wished for Mary to make a match that would potentially raise her status in society, and as she considered the far off possibility of them marrying she worried. Perhaps it was a mere infatuation, one that would fade while the boys were away, but as time passed the connection between the two grew more pronounced, and she could not dismiss it as a simple love anymore.

At Christmas they seemed to have abandoned the bulk of their awkwardness and played heated games of chess (Matthew was improving and, as such, had become a more challenging opponent). The boys sung carols around the piano as Mary played for them and she laughed and teased them for being out of tune. It was just like how it had been before, except for the shift in Mary and Matthew's relationship that the family saw play out in front of them with each passing day.

* * *

In light of the fact that Mary and Matthew now felt more for each other than the familial love of two cousins, Cora did something she never thought she would have to do. She asked Henry to act as their chaperone.

"Oh, Mamma, must I?" he grumbled when approached about it, rolling his eyes.

Cora nodded. "Yes, you must. They aren't children anymore, after all." She frowned. "Perhaps we should have thought of this sooner..."

Henry looked up at his mother from the armchair in the library in which he was currently sprawled, a book resting on his chest. "Of course they're still children! What do you think could possibly happen, Mamma?"

Cora gave him a withering look. "Henry, do as you're told, please. Just keep an eye on them, that's all we're asking."

"Papa knows?"

"Yes, Henry, your Papa knows. Who doesn't, with the way they look at each other?"

So Henry watched them. He watched them play chess, watched them at dinner, watched a shy kiss out of the corner of his eye as they took a cold walk in the snow ahead of him, watched how their fingers touched when exchanging gifts and the smiles that followed, and watched as they laughed together. It bored him. He had never been a romantic, but his sister was happy. So he watched them, but not all too closely. They were in love, they were happy, they were adults, and he saw no reason why he should watch them like a hawk as his mother had suggested. Henry knew them better than anyone, and trusted them completely. Besides, they never had more than a few weeks together at a time. They should be allowed to enjoy that short bit of time together without constant surveillance.

Mary saw them off at the station again in January. She no longer felt abandoned when they departed, not now that she knew she was by no means being left behind. This time there were no coded words, no threats of tears, only the promise of letters and, as Henry purposefully boarded the train before Matthew as always, another kiss to act as a wax seal on their promise and to remind the other through the softness of lips, _I'm yours. _

As a child the separation from them had cut through her harshly, but now that she had stepped off the platform of her childhood onto the fast train of her adulthood Mary viewed the separation as merely a pause. Never before had she felt so safe and secure as she did now, knowing that she was loved and cherished by the one whose opinion mattered the most to her, assured with the knowledge that he would come back to her and kiss her again at this station she had become so well acquainted with.

* * *

_A/N: There are so many thank you's that need to go out for this chapter, especially since I've been abroad amidst all this horrible flooding, and it took many hands to pull this thing together! You all know who you are, and it means so much to me that you put up with my ranting and messages at 4am because I'm freaking out about whether there should be a comma somewhere. Thank you so much, always! _


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Happy Tuesday! I'm excited about this chapter, because we've finally reached the beginning of S1! I hope you enjoy the chapter! _

* * *

**Yours Forever: Chapter XI**

April, 1912

"Is it true?" Mary asked as she walked into the dining room, coming behind her father as he shook open the morning paper with a crack. She narrowed her eyes to read the small print over his shoulder, scanning over the picture of the ship that was supposed to have been unsinkable. Lord Grantham nodded in confirmation "And I'm afraid we'll know some people on it."

Mary thought of her friend, Audrey St. George, who had been so excited about the prospect of going to America. "I don't suppose there are any lists of survivors yet?"

Carson cleared his throat as Mary moved to the buffet and both she and her father looked to the butler. "I understand most of the ladies were taken off in time."

Mary raised her eyebrows as she scooped strawberries onto her breakfast plate. "The ladies in first class."

Carson nodded grimly, and Lord Grantham closed his paper as Mary came back to the table, setting her plate down, unfolding her napkin, and placing it in her lap just as she had been taught to do as a little girl.

"God help the poor devils below decks," her father said quietly. "What a tragedy."

He lay the_ Times _out in front of them at the table and they both read and ate in silence. Not five minutes into their meal, however, Thomas the footman entered the room bearing a tray, and Mary looked as it was lowered to her father that a small white telegram rested upon its gleaming surface.

"Just arrived, m'lord," Thomas said, his voice breaking the silence as the tearing of the telegram soon does. Lord Grantham's brow knit in concentration as he read it, and Mary set down her cutlery.

"Papa? What is it?"

He finished reading and handed the small paper to her. She turned it over and scanned it quickly. "The Astors? Mamma knows them, then? _Knew _them, I suppose," she corrected herself, folding the telegram up from her brother and setting it down on the table. "How did Henry come by the list, do you think?"

Her father shrugged, looked down at the paper, then back at his daughter. "You'd better take that up to your mother, she'll be wondering, I expect."

Mary rose dutifully and picked up the telegram again, moving out of the dining room and through the hall to the staircase. As she climbed the stairs of her beloved home she looked around her. How would it be to leave a place like this and realize on the coldness of an April night at sea that you would never return to it?

* * *

As always, the beginning of summer brought the return of Henry and Matthew to Downton. Having recently graduated, Henry reveled in his newfound freedom. He spent most of his time in the library now, whining when Mary came in to speak to him or tried to coax him in a game of chess. He played merciless badminton matches against his sister and Matthew, both poor players, although it didn't help that they always laughed heartily at their own error.

Lord Grantham had for years been showing his heir how the estate was run, introducing him to their many tenants and sharing plans for the future of Downton, grooming him in this way for what would be his life once Lord Grantham was gone. The son in question, however, was not quite the attentive pupil that his father wished he would be. Rousing Henry from bed each morning seemed to be a chore itself, and finding him during the day, often in the library or outside, reading, did nothing to encourage his father's hopes for the future of his home.

* * *

"Henry, what do you do all day, cooped up in the library?" Mary asked her brother one evening as the two shared a drink after their parents had gone up to bed.

"Mmh," he responded, swirling his brandy and looking over at her. "Just reading."

"What, all day?"

He nodded. "Greek mythology," he offered. "That's what I read today. You'd enjoy it, I think."

Mary set her own drink down, folding her hands in her lap, and looked at him seriously. "Henry," she began, biting her lip before continuing, knowing she had to be delicate. "You should at least try with Papa, you know." He raised an eyebrow in confusion. "I mean about Downton," Mary went on. "He's been waiting his whole life to share this with his son."

Her brother laughed bitterly. "Then perhaps I'm not the son he's looking for. Wouldn't you be better suited?"

"Probably, if I'd been a boy," Mary admitted, well aware of her brother's habits and work-ethic. "But I'm not. And anyway, it wouldn't matter. You're to inherit. Not me, not anyone else." She ran a hand over her arm nervously, knowing what she had to say would be difficult but true.

He took a drink again and set it down. Mary could see the sadness in her brother's eyes, what he had never admitted to her, or to anyone. He was the untamed one, his sister the model of what the daughter of an Earl should be. He was the one who cared very little about how things were done, and his sister the perfect example of social grace and propriety. Their roles should have been reversed, he told himself often. Mary should be the one to carry the estate into its next life, well-behaved, attentive, wise Mary. Not him, not the real child of the family.

"It's your duty, Henry. You must do Papa well by it."

He sighed. "I know. And I'm trying. You have to believe that." And it was true. No matter how it may have seemed, Henry was trying.

Mary set her glass aside and stood up, covering her mouth with a hand as she yawned while Henry didn't bother in covering his own. She tilted her head suspiciously at her older brother. "Are you going to stay up all night again?"

He shrugged. "Why?"

She patted his shoulder. "You're going over plans for improvement to the estate with Papa tomorrow morning," she reminded him.

* * *

Later in the summer, Henry sat on the bench Mary had always seemed to like, discovering why she liked it as the soft sun sifted through the leaves of the tree above him. The curve of it allowed for a comfortable, relaxed reading position, and he looked up from his book at his cousin and sister. They walked across the lawn, hand in hand. Henry smiled to himself when his sister laughed at something Matthew said, looking at him in such an adoring, earnest manner, that Henry knew she would never love another in the same way. He looked away when he saw Matthew lean over to kiss her cheek fondly, not taking his mother's wish to chaperone them very seriously. They knew the rules, what was allowed, and neither would veer far from the rigid path that society dictated them to follow.

As he turned back to his book his mother looked up from hers. Going to the window in her upstairs sitting room she pulled the sheer curtains aside and glanced down at the lush green lawn, seeing her son reading at Mary's bench and then, further ahead, her daughter and Matthew. Although now they walked further apart, Mary's hands together in front of her and Matthew's by his side, Cora still let out a dejected sigh and turned away from the window. There was nothing she could do about it anymore.

* * *

"Will you be lonely without Henry?" Mary asked quietly.

Matthew shook his head and smiled in the beginning of a joke next to her at the dinner table. "I won't miss doing his Latin for him."

Mary's mouth fell open slightly in shock, momentarily resting her fork on the edge of her plate and looking down the table at her brother who was speaking with their grandmother. "He made you-" she cut herself off, shaking her head. "Never mind. He's impossible."

Matthew chuckled and took a sip of wine. "You must promise to look after him for me while I'm away," he teased. "See that he doesn't get into too much trouble."

Mary raised her eyebrows. "I'm afraid I won't have the pleasure of that task," she said. "Papa is quite determined to reign him in."

Matthew looked at her thoughtfully. "He'll catch up, you'll see."

Mary nodded and took another bite of her dinner. "I'm sure you're right."

* * *

And so another goodbye was said, and this time Henry waited by the car, watching with detached envy as his sister kissed Matthew goodbye and watched him board the train, feet placed firmly together, skirt rustling as the train chugged to live and rushed past her. In all his time at school he'd never had someone feel that way about him; someone who didn't care about positions or titles, someone who respected him as much as he respected them, someone who was honest even when it was difficult, so he envied them their happiness, knowing it was hard to find.

His sister smiled as she neared the car, thanking him for opening her door even though the gesture seemed ridiculous between them, and sat down. He climbed in on the other side, shutting the door firmly as the engine sputtered to life.

It felt strange to drive back with her as Matthew sped off in the opposite direction but, then again, this was how it had always been when they left for school and were rushed away, leaving Mary at the station. Three split into two and one.

She glanced out to the left, a part of her already tugging at the thought that she wouldn't see Matthew until Christmas, and then looked back to her brother. They favoured each other greatly in appearance, and smiled at his concentrated expression as he drove.

"I'm glad you're home," she said softly, and he took his eyes off the road for a moment and smiled at her.

* * *

December, 1912

"Are you ready for the hunt?" Henry asked, striding into the drawing room after coming in from a ride of his own and finding his sister there, writing.

"I suppose," she said at last, looking up from her letter to Matthew. "And it'll be nice with you here."

Henry flopped down into a chair beside her, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back lazily. "I've invited Evelyn Napier to come along as well, actually. I hope you won't mind."

"Why would I mind?" Mary asked in confusion. "I haven't seen Evelyn since the Garden Party two years ago."

"Yes, well he'll be in the area. I thought it would be rude not to invite him." He gestured towards the paper in front of Mary. "I assume Matthew won't be back in time?"

She shook her head, signing the letter and folding it into an envelope. "No, I think his train is a week afterwards."

"Just as well," Henry said with a smirk. "He never was one for riding. At least not well."

Mary laughed, remembering how frustrated she had been as a girl upon learning that he was not a skilled rider.

* * *

"What's that?" Henry asked as his sister walked into the library, predictably finding him there at the desk he'd seemed to have taken up as his own. Mary shrugged.

"A letter. For you. It came at tea," she explained, handing him the letter. "Which _you _couldn't be bothered to come to." She glanced over the open books and papers littering the desk, covering up any traces of its real surface. Henry opened the letter and began to read. Mary perched on the edge of the disastrous mess, curiously peering down at his scribbled notes and papers. She moved to pick one up but he slapped her hand away. Holding the offensive hand in her other, she frowned. "What does it say?" she asked instead of prying further.

Henry looked up. "It's from Napier. Apparently he's bringing a friend with him, an attaché at the Turkish embassy, by the looks of it." He looked at the letter again as Mary listened attentively. "A Mr...Kemal Pamuk, if I'm reading it correctly." He handed her the letter to read herself and leaned back in his chair as she skimmed it. "Probably here for the Albanian talks, I imagine."

Mary put the letter down and stood. "To create an independent Albania?"

He smiled up at her in amusement. "I thought you didn't like to read the papers."

"If I didn't how else would you expect me to compete with you and Matthew at dinner?"

She started towards the door to the library but turned just before walking out, giving him a curious look. "And don't worry, Henry. I won't go poking about in your things."

He nodded, already rearranging the stray papers on the desk. She gave him one last look, then turned the handle and went back up to her own room to change. She hadn't ridden in weeks.

* * *

Robert looked up from his own paperwork as Cora came into his study. He frowned, unused to her seeking him out here. Her expression was cheerful.

"You look happy," he said with a smile of his own, and she brought her hands together in front of her.

"I've just had the most wonderful news!" she exclaimed. Not giving him time to inquire about the nature of the news, she continued. "Mary's just told me that Evelyn Napier is coming for the hunt!"

Lord Grantham frowned. "Lord Branksome's boy?" he confirmed. Cora nodded proudly. "And Mary told you this?"

Cora nodded again. "Well, Henry's invited him, but this could be just what we need!"

"Which is...?"

Cora placed her hands on the edge of his desk, fiddling with the corner of it with her fingertips, a trait Mary had inherited. "We've always wanted Mary to have a title and position, haven't we? Well, this is our chance!" she said gleefully. "Who knows? Perhaps they'll take a liking to each other!"

Robert frowned. "What about Matthew? They seem so natural together."

Cora nodded. "I admit, I'm not entirely against the idea of them as a couple, I only want Mary to see that Matthew isn't her only option."

Robert looked up at his wife. "Is that fair, do you think? When they already seem so attached to each other?"

Cora sighed tiredly. "I think a match with someone like Evelyn Napier would be more advantageous to Mary. After all, she won't inherit the estate. Would you really send her away from Downton the wife of a solicitor?"

Robert looked at her then, a small spark of agreement in his eyes, before he pushed it away. Seeing his daughter so happy at last after her ups and downs with her cousin over the past years had warmed his heart. The notion of pushing her at another man when she was so obviously happy with Matthew seemed unnecessary as well as mildly cruel. Cora was right, marrying Matthew would give her no elevated position in society. Yet as time wore on, it had become clearer and clearer that neither Mary nor Matthew would be giving each other up any time soon. They were best friends, which in itself was a deep form of love, and Lord Grantham decided it would be wrong to attempt to separate them.

* * *

"Can you see them?"

Mary shook her head, craning her neck to search for them. "Not yet. Oh, wait a minute. There he is," she said, nodding her head towards Evelyn, who came over to them riding a beautiful white mare. She looked at Henry for a moment and chuckled at their old friend. "We were beginning to give up on you!"

Evelyn tipped his hat to Mary and nodded to Henry. "We were fools not to send the horses down early. As it is, my groom only got here an hour ago and my mount's as jump as a deb at her first ball." He looked behind them. "Is your cousin not with us?"

Mary shook her head regretfully. "No, I'm afraid his holiday doesn't begin for another week."

"Pity, he was always a fair debating partner."

Henry laughed. Mary smiled at the compliment given to Matthew.

"And what of Mr. Pamuk? I gather if he takes a tumble, you'll be endangering world peace," Henry said with a smirk, patting his horse's elegant neck.

Evelyn waved a hand in dismissal. "Don't worry about Kemal. He knows what he's doing on a horse." He was about to continue when he saw his companion riding up behind Mary. "Ah, here he is now."

Henry and Mary turned their heads to see what they had privately joked would be a 'funny little man with a wide, toothy grin and hair reeking with pomade'. In reality, he was quite the opposite.

"Lady Mary Crawley, I presume?"

Mary nodded and both she and Henry exchanged pleasantries with the foreigner. He was attractive in an exotic, wild way and seemed to be just as amiable, if not a bit more flirtatious, than Evelyn. And, as the sound of the hunting horn was heard, the four of them rode off with everyone else into the misty, cold December morning.

* * *

_A/N: What did you think? Big thank you's as always to everyone who helped me out with this chapter, whether with grammar questions, read-throughs, advice, or plot ideas, you all are the best! _


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Happy Tuesday! I worked for a long time on this chapter because I wanted to make sure I got everything as right as it could go. Trigger warnings apply. _

**Yours Forever: Chapter XII**

The Crawley siblings and their guests returned from the hunt thoroughly worn out and in desperate need of baths. Mr. Napier and his friend were led up to their rooms ahead of Henry and Mary, who found themselves lingering at the foot of the staircase, Henry with an amused smirk as his eyes followed their two guests.

"What do you think of him?" he asked quietly.

Mary scoffed. "He thinks quite highly of himself, doesn't he?"

Henry began to climb the staircase and Mary followed slowly in his stead. "He wouldn't leave me alone all day," she complained in a low tone.

"I noticed," her brother said with a chuckle. "Perhaps that's how they are in Turkey."

Mary raised an eyebrow. "I only hope I won't be placed next to him at dinner," she said as they reached the top of the staircase. "You know Mamma has big plans for Evelyn and me."

It was Henry's turn to scoff. "Well then she's in for an equally big disappointment."

Mary smiled at her brother as they parted ways, going to her room and wishing that Matthew were home, although he wasn't due to return until the following week. She knew Evelyn had no interest in her. After all, they had been friends since childhood, and Napier knew about the understood attachment between Lady Mary and her cousin, even if her own mother dismissed it as a temporary infatuation. Yet Mr. Pamuk's flirtatious behaviour during the hunt had made her both uneasy and annoyed, knowing that his attentions were not welcome.

With Anna's help she undressed and stepped into the welcoming warmth of the bath, sinking back into it and exhaling deeply, ridding herself of her worries as the steam and smell of lavender washed over her.

* * *

"Is Lady Mary engaged?" Pamuk asked as he descended the stairs with Evelyn.

Napier shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. She's quite close with her cousin, if I remember correctly."

"Ah, and where is he?" Kemal asked once they reached the bottom of the staircase.

Evelyn straightened his jacket. "Still at school, I imagine. He'll be home for the Christmas holiday." He looked at his friend. "Why?"

Kemal shrugged. "I'd like to know as much as I can about the family in whose home I'll be spending the night."

Evelyn chuckled. "I'm afraid the English might not support such an idea. We're rather protective of our privacy."

* * *

Unfortunately, Mary was placed in between Evelyn and Mr. Pamuk, as Henry had rather suspected. They shared a glance over the table as the meal began -Henry's of amusement and Mary's of annoyance, before she was whisked away into a conversation with Evelyn, which she did not mind in the slightest. He was pleasant enough, if not a little dull, and, as she hadn't seen him for two years, she was glad to catch up with him.

Sooner or later, however, when Evelyn engaged in conversation with Lady Grantham, Mary found herself speaking with Mr. Pamuk. He was certainly a change from Evelyn's softness and gentle jokes, although his forwardness still made her uneasy. Again she found herself wishing Matthew were there, and began to introduce him into their conversation, hopefully bringing the point across that she was more or less not at liberty to entertain his eager attentions.

After politely conversing with him for several minutes Mary managed to catch her brother's eye and widened her own imperceptibly. Henry noticed, and immediately began to speak to Mr. Pamuk himself, drawing the unwelcome attention away from his younger sister, for which she was grateful. Evelyn turned back to Mary and they resumed their friendly conversation, earning an approving and satisfied glance from Cora.

Once the men rejoined the women, Henry saw Mary sitting comfortably beside her grandmother, her fingers running, as they always did, over the pearls strung around her neck. She looked up and saw the men entering, smiled, then turned back to her conversation.

"Mary," she heard her mother say behind her, and turned to look up at her. "We have guests."

Mary's brow wrinkled. "I'm well aware, Mamma. As you can see, I'm speaking with Granny at the moment."

Violet waved her aside. "That's alright, my dear. I have something to discuss with your mother, anyway."

Mary hesitated for a moment, then stood, walking back towards her brother and their guests and rejoining them in conversation. Evelyn was speaking about books with Henry, which made Mary happy, as some of her brother's reading material was beyond even her ability to comprehend. She listened, contributing when asked for her opinion, and was glad to be more or less rid of Mr. Pamuk, no matter how handsome he was. She considered him for a moment, knowing that had it been two years earlier she would have fallen for his foreign charms instantly. Yet now, _fortunately_, she thought to herself, she knew what it was to love and not merely flirt with an attractive man. No, she knew the happiness that accompanied Matthew's love and her love for him, and she knew now, as she had probably known for years, that she had the love she wanted, and that she desired no one else's.

Her eyes sharpened as she looked behind her brother and saw Pamuk slipping through a double door that opened to the adjoining music room. She frowned. _What could he possibly want with the music room?_ Excusing herself from her conversation, she set down her glass and to the music room door, finding the inside of the room still dark.

"Mr. Pamuk?" she called softly. Light fell onto the floor and illuminated the Turk standing there in front of her, his fingertip tracing the frame of a particularly treasured painting.

"Is this really a Della Francesca?" he asked in an almost reverent tone. Mary stepped forward, entering the room and looking at the painting in front of her, propped as it was on a small table near the piano in the middle of the room.

"I think so," she said absentmindedly, only having come in the room in the first place to ask him why he had entered it, not to engage in a quiet conversation under the shade of darkness. "The second Earl brought back several paintings from-"

Suddenly, her breath was cut short and she made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat as Mr. Pamuk grabbed her face, kissing her roughly and pushing her back against the shelves lining the right side of the room.

Mary pushed him away with surprising strength and stood up straight, stepping away from the wall of books and fixing him with an icy stare.

"Let me come to you tonight, please," he said in a whisper. Mary's eyebrows rose considerably and she drew herself to her full height.

"Mr. Pamuk," she said in a low, icy tone. "I can't think what I have said that has led you to believe-"

He smiled roguishly. "Please, I don't know when we'll meet again. So, let it be tonight."

He leaned in to kiss her again, but Mary slapped her hand quickly and unforgivingly across his face. "Mr. Pamuk," she hissed again in an even colder tone than before. "I will not repeat your words to my father since I should hate to see you cast out into the darkness, but can we agree to consider them unsaid?"

Pamuk began to say something, a hand held to his cheek which was red from Mary's harsh slap, but she silenced him, holding up her hand and moving away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I shall rejoin the others." She walked at a quick pace to the door and composed herself with a deep breath before entering the drawing room again, returning directly to the comfort of sitting beside her grandmother, quickly striking up new conversation and ignoring Mr. Pamuk when he exited the music room moments later.

* * *

It was quite late, and Mary had yet to go to sleep. She should have been exhausted from the ride, and she knew she would pay for it the next day, but she found herself wide awake, even after she knew that all the rest of the house was fast asleep. At least her book was entertaining, Mary thought as she turned the page. It was the book of Greek Mythology Henry had suggested, and he had been right, she did enjoy it.

Her doorknob twisted, the click signifying that someone was intending on coming inside. Never before had someone come to Mary's room at this time of night, and she looked up in confusion as the door opened and someone walked inside, shutting it quickly and silently behind them. She threw her novel down, scrambling out of bed, and pulled the comforter up to shield herself from her unwelcome visitor.

"You must be mad!" she said in an incredulous whisper, tightening the coverlet around her.

He smiled. "I am. I am in the grip of madness!"

Mary pointed to her door. "Please, leave at once or I'll..."

"Or you'll what?" he asked softly.

Mary stood up and lifted her chin. "I'll scream."

"And have them find a _man _in your room?" he asked, and took a step closer to her. "What a story!"

As he came further into the light she was pleased to see his cheek still slightly pink from her slap earlier in the evening. Taking another step closer to her, he smiled again encouragingly. "You wouldn't be the first. There's nothing wrong with a little excitement, you know, and you can still be a virgin for your husband."

Mary's mouth fell open at his frank language. "Mr. Pamuk, I have told you to leave," she said again, composing herself, her voice low and dark. "I would be ruined if anyone knew we'd had this conversation, let alone if-"

"If what?" Pamuk challenged, and there was a glint in his eye that made Mary's stomach turn unpleasantly.

Mary swallowed, her unease swiftly taking on an edge of panic, no matter how calm an exterior she could maintain. "Mr. Pamuk, go back to your room. You will leave my home tomorrow without a word of your behaviour, but you will leave my room at once!"

Moving past him to her door with the intent to open it for him and lock it securely once he had gone, Mary tugged the blanket back around her but felt his hands find her from where he stood. A cold dagger of very real panic instantly sliced through her. In a blur, she weighed her possibilities. Her room was relatively isolated, the closest rooms reserved for female guests and then, further down the hall, her parents' bedchamber. They slept deeply, a fact she had discovered after moving into her new bedroom from the nursery and awakening to wild storms in the dead of night. Her cries of fright had not been heard by them, and she had been forced to seek out their comfort herself, more often going to Henry, whose bedchamber was comparatively closer to her own, although still around the corner and down a dark hallway. If she were to cry out now, the chance of being heard would be slim, and even then she would be ruined forever if a servant were to overhear. Even Henry would probably sleep through it. Pamuk was right -calling for someone would bring scandal to her family. She could run. No, that wouldn't do.

Mary slapped his hands away furiously with just as much strength as she had employed in hitting him before, and as she did the duvet fell, leaving her thinly clad body more or less exposed to him.

Lady Mary did not beg. Not ever. And she hated herself for doing it now as a desperate last resort, knowing why he had come and what he wanted. "Please, go. I don't want you here."

* * *

Henry Crawley was not unused to being awakened at odd hours of the night. He had grown accustomed to it at school. But his most frequent nighttime visitor had always been his sister. After he had moved into his own room she had snuck into it at night, gathering herself into a little ball at the foot of his bed until the sun began to rise and she was forced to return to her lonely nursery. Thunderstorms had brought her there longer than she cared to admit before her adolescent pride had set in and she deemed herself too old for such things. And so now, even after several years, when Henry woke up with her at his bedside, he was not shocked. In fact, he found it rather funny until he saw her.

His sister held a finger to her lips, and he noticed her disheveled attire: her dressing gown loosely tied around her thin waist, her dark hair sloppily gathered in a green ribbon, her cheeks pale.

"What is it?" he asked in genuine concern, sitting up and putting a hand on her trembling arm. "Mary?"

A hand came up to cup her mouth, and she looked at him with wide brown eyes. "He's dead. I think he's dead." She recalled Pamuk's weight on her and how she had tried desperately to throw him off. "No, I'm sure he's dead," she confirmed, shaking her head sadly.

Henry stood now beside her and his other hand came to cup her cheek, turning her face up to him, seeing something he had never before seen in his sister's eyes. Weakness. Fear. "Who is dead?"

"Mr. Pamuk."

Henry's brow winkled as he looked at her. She was struggling to say something, and for a moment he feared there had been a traumatic murder in the house. She looked so terribly frightened.

"But...how?" he asked delicately.

Mary gestured to herself, as if she had been personally responsible for his death. "We were together and...he's dead!" She covered her eyes.

"What?!" Henry cried, his hand instantly leaving her arm as he started quickly to the door.

She moved forward, pressing a hand over his mouth and silencing his loud cry of outrage. "Please, Henry, if anyone knew it would bring a scandal of such magnitude that it will never be forgotten until long after I am dead. I'll be ruined, Henry! Is that what you want for your younger sister?"

He relaxed, and, once she was certain he would cooperate, she released his mouth from under her hand, fixing him with an imploring stare. She sighed, disappointment and shame seeping into her body with every second that passed. "I cannot imagine what you must think of me now, but you must help me, Henry."

He put a hand on her shoulder, running the other over his eyes in pure disbelief. Setting his jaw, he opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Show me."

* * *

Henry's stomach turned horribly as he saw the body of Kemal Pamuk sprawled ungracefully over his sister's bed. Her arms hugged her body, and he noted with a shock of horror and disgust the stain of blood upon the sheets as he moved closer to the corpse. He looked again at Mary, his gaze now showing nothing but concern for her.

"What happened?" he asked darkly.

She shrugged. "I don't know! A heart attack, or a stroke! One minute he was alive and then he cried out and then...he was dead!"

She saw his look and her shoulders began to shake again, although she silenced her sobs with her hand. He shook his head sadly and moved closer to her. Mary flinched slightly as he approached. "He forced himself on you." It wasn't a question. He would kill the man with his bare hands only...that had already been taken care of. Henry pulled her to him, rocking her slowly back and forth as he had done when she was a child, kissing her head. "We'll talk about that later, but we have to get him back to his own bed before anyone sees."

Mary dried her eyes and looked back to the body. "Can we manage it between us?"

Her brother glanced again at the tall, muscular young man, swallowing the disgust in his mouth and forcing the image to not enter his head of the Turk and his sister.

After covering the body, Henry attempted to pick him up with Mary holding onto the man's now cold feet. The effort of moving to her bedroom door itself was monumental, and neither was sure they could manage it all the way down the bachelor's corridor without waking anyone.

"What are you doing?" Mary asked in a whisper as Henry set his half of the cargo down.

He wiped his brow, his hand shaking with anger and strain. "We'll need at least one other."

Mary shook her head firmly. "No, no one else." She picked up her end with all the strength she possessed and Henry pulled Pamuk's body up again, carrying him back down the corridor and into his room with Mary in his wake. He marveled at her strength given the situation, although he knew beneath her tough exterior she was heavily shaken and changed forever. He had always been able to read her well.

* * *

As Henry shut the door behind Mary once back in her room, her hand came over her face again and she cried silently and shamefully. Henry slipped a hand around shoulders and squeezed her firmly there, which only made her cry harder and bury her face into his neck, trying to stifle the noise.

"I'm sorry, Henry," she whispered into his neck, holding the lapels of his pajamas for comfort.

He stepped back from her, and she mourned the lack of warmth immediately. "What are you saying, Mary? If anyone's apologizing, it should be me!"

She looked at him in confusion. "I invited him here with Evelyn, I saw how he flirted with you today, I should have done something about it," he went on. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Mary leaned against the bedpost for support, her tears having been replaced by a stoic look of resignation to her situation. She looked at him, her tragic beauty tearing at his heart.

"We'll talk more in the morning. Now...try and get some sleep."

She took a deep breath. "I'm afraid there's little chance of that."

Henry shook his head. "No, I doubt it. But try. Will you be alright?"

She nodded, drying her eyes again and smiling weakly as he went to the door, out into the corridor, and back to his own room.

* * *

Mary locked the door behind him, vowing as she did it that she would never again sleep with it unlocked, leaning against it heavily as she tried to drown out the night's events which would change her life and herself forever. She looked to her bed, with its sheets bunched up, evidence of what had transpired. She rushed to it and hurriedly put it back as rightly as she could, smoothing the covers down over her shame. Next she went to her washbasin, finding nothing better to use, and rid herself of her nightgown, using a cloth to clean and scrub at her body as best she could. The task filled her with intense self-loathing, and she was glad to be done with it as she donned a new gown and went to the window.

Sitting down at the window seat, she put one cushion behind her and hugged the other one to her chest, overcome with love for her brother and relief that he would keep her secret. She thought of Matthew, sleeping miles away from her, and exhaled deeply knowing he was fast asleep and had no way of knowing what had happened at Downton that night.

Matthew! Suddenly, the image of him as a young boy came into her head, nodding to her when they had first met. Then she remembered swimming with Matthew and Henry. Then the day he had carried her back to the house after she had twisted her ankle. Then when she had caught the boys smoking. Laughing on a summer beach. Saying goodbye at foggy train stations. Dancing. Kissing. She thought of his clear, blue eyes and leaned her head against the cold glass of her window, her entire body gripped with tension.

"Oh, God!" she cried in a whisper, realizing with a horrible rush, like a train crashing into her at full speed, how much she loved him. She loved him so utterly and completely, with so much of her heart, that now as it broke it was as if she had been sliced open and exposed. She was changed now. Mary raised her head, sniffing and forbidding any other tears to fall. But now the weight on her chest was twofold, and she restlessly shifted her legs under her nightgown.

Suddenly, Mary stopped and was very still. She looked into the window and saw herself. A dark haired, ghostly white girl stared back at her. Mary looked away almost immediately. She couldn't bear to see herself knowing what had happened. And she stood up, almost feeling physical pain at the fact that she knew she had now really lost Matthew forever.

* * *

Mary saw Evelyn as she descended the stairs the next morning. He stood there at the bottom, probably waiting for either her or Henry, and Mary instantly wished neither of their guests had come for the hunt.

"I imagine you've heard what's happened?" Evelyn asked.

Mary nodded. "Yes."

"Terrible thing. Awful. Ghastly for your parents." He stopped, looking up at her, noticing the red rimming her eyes, clearly from crying. "Forgive me, are you quite alright, Lady Mary?"

She nodded, looking up and seeing her brother following in her wake down the stairs. Henry put a hand protectively on Mary's back as he neared her. "It's come as quite a shock, hasn't it?"

Evelyn nodded. "Yes, very shocking. He was so fit!"

She shuddered, and Henry felt it under his palm.

"I'm famished, how about you both? Shall we go to breakfast?" he proposed, leading Mary and his friend into the dining room. Henry and Mary followed, neither with any sort of appetite.

* * *

Henry looked up from his book that evening, although it was doing a very poor job of distracting him, hearing a timid knock at his door. The knob twisted and Mary's face appeared in the crack.

"I can't sleep there," she said quietly, and, at his gesture, slipped inside his room and leaned her back against the door as she had on her own the previous night.

Henry set his novel down. "I know. You'll take one of the other rooms?"

Mary nodded, but didn't move.

"It's good you've come, anyway. I wanted to speak to you."

She began to fiddle with the tie on her dressing gown, not meeting his eye. "About what?"

He took a deep breath. "About what happened."

Mary shook her head. "No, Henry. I can't talk about it, not even with you."

He sat up, sitting on the edge of his bed, knowing she now wanted to run out of his room. "You do know that it was wrong?"

Mary laughed bitterly. "I'm not a little girl, Henry, I knew it wasn't right, not when he-"

"I'm not treating you like a child. I just hope you know you're not to blame in any of this."

"Aren't I?" she cried. "I could have screamed and I did nothing!"

Henry looked at her. "You struggled."

She looked at the ceiling. "How could I not? Oh, God, Henry, it was horrible! I never even knew that-"

"That what?"

She clenched her hands in frustrated fists by her sides. "No one ever speaks of such things! No one warned me, not properly, anyway! I learnt to expect marriage and children. No one ever thought it kind enough to really explain how one influenced another."

Henry put his elbows on his knees, rested his face in his hands, thinking, blaming himself for not protecting her from Pamuk's advances himself. He could have prevented it, he convinced himself. "I'm so sorry, Mary."

"Don't be," she said softly. "It's not your fault. And he's dead now anyway, so there's no revenge that can be taken."

Henry looked over to her. "And what about Matthew?"

Mary widened her eyes at him and shook her head firmly. "Oh no, I couldn't possibly. Not yet, anyway."

Her brother sighed. "Mary, I think he'll be more hurt by you concealing it from him than if you were to tell him."

"You're probably right," she conceded. "But I can't. I just can't. And you won't tell him, either. You have to promise not to tell him, Henry."

Henry nodded. "I won't tell him." He looked at her carefully. "Will you ever tell him?"

"Of course!" Mary said miserably. "But not next week. I'm not ready." She looked at Henry, who was giving her a sad smile. She gave him a smile of her own, one that was devoid of happiness. "Goodnight."

He nodded. "Goodnight, Mary."

He watched her walk to the door and open it, slipping outside. There was a slowness to her step, a heavier weight that hadn't been there the day before. His sister had now truly crossed the border between childhood and adulthood, and there was no going back. Henry put his book on his bedside table and lowered the lamp, knowing that Mary would never realize just how incredibly brave and strong he thought she was.

* * *

_A/N: *hides* I was so nervous about posting this. But, as you can see, things were rearranged a little bit. I've always felt very strongly about the fact that Mary was raped by Pamuk. Obviously in this version I think that fact is clearly stated. Of course, this is AU. I hope I was able to portray what happened in a tasteful manner. Thank you, as always, for reading! _


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Hello! Sorry about the lack of an update last week, but I had horrible writer's block and it just...wasn't going to happen. But I was finally able to write this chapter, and I hope you like it! I broke it into two parts mainly for my own mental organization, but maybe it'll help you, too. And a HUGE thank you to those who voted for the Highclere Awards! It means so much to me! _

**Yours Forever: Chapter XIII**

**Part I**

Mary had said she would meet him at the station herself.

"Are you sure? I could go down in the-"

"Yes, quite sure!" Mary had insisted, cutting off her brother's kind offer to drive down to the station to pick up Matthew when his train arrived. Because it had to be her. She needed every moment before telling him to be precious, so she could cherish them afterwards.

Time is a curious thing. Anticipation draws each tick of the clock out unbearably. Toes tap and hands rub together impatiently in the infuriating slowness of waiting. Dread, however, is far worse. Dread quickens time, spinning the hands of the clock faster and faster until nausea sets in and palms sweat. And so, as the days went by, the strange nature of time had not been lost on Mary, because she found herself oddly, uncomfortably, situated between both anticipation and dread.

For weeks the happiness that always accompanied Matthew's return from school had made the bleak, dark winter days drag by at a frustratingly slow pace. Yet, now, as those days grew smaller in number and Downton began to be spruced and decked for the holidays, a terrible trepidation rose like bile in Mary's throat. A week ago she had been one Mary, and now she was a whole other. Matthew knew nothing of it, and the knowledge of his innocence in the matter ate away at Mary's heart.

Henry was right. She would have to tell him. She had rehearsed it time and time again, walking over the crisp, ice-dusted grass on the lawn that she had somehow come to take comfort in, their blatant crunching underfoot a physical and audible reminder of the frankness with which Mary knew she must approach the topic.

It was not within her nature to be coy, nor was it possible for her to veil what had happened, to sweeten the bitter taste she knew it bore. She would have to be direct, or avoid it completely. And Mary knew the choice she would have to make, however unpleasant it would be for both of them. The conversation she played over in her head at night, horribly aware that she would at some point soon have to live its unforgivingly blunt reality, made her stomach ache.

She had rephrased, edited, and agonized over how she would possibly breach what she had to say to Matthew, knowing what his inevitable reaction would be. She could see it now, clearly, in her mind: the hurt, the disappointment, and, perhaps (although the very prospect of it abhorred her) _pity. _

But Mary bore it. She bit the inside of her cheek, crafted a smile as bright as the sparkling tinsel, and threw herself in the last few days before his arrival into the preparation for Christmas. She was unspeakably grateful for the distraction, choosing ornaments to hang, organizing the menus with her mother, and finishing her shopping in the village. And then, all at once, it was Friday, and Matthew's train was due in at five o'clock.

* * *

_"Quite sure!"_ Mary had said, although as she walked onto the platform and absentmindedly looked in the direction his train would be coming from she was suddenly seized with the desire to escape, to run away from it. She needed more time.

As much as it pained her, Mary had rallied up the courage and confidence to meet him here at the station alone. She couldn't have stayed at home, greeting him only when he and Isobel came for dinner -it would have been too much, the surprise of seeing him with no time to prepare. But this wasn't much better, Mary realized as she heard rather than saw the train approaching. She had thought it would be easier to greet him alone, to have a moment of just them, together, before facing an entire dinner across from him, maintaining her untroubled disposition in front of everyone else.

The train flew into the station, cold winter wind slapping Mary unforgivingly, blowing her coat and skirts, and hitting her cheeks harshly. Trepidation pooled in her gut, and she took the opportunity before he disembarked to wrap her arms around herself for a moment, the action giving her comfort as well as warmth.

Doors opened, whistles blew, and passengers' feet found the reassurance of solid and still ground beneath them again as they all disembarked. Mary scanned the crowd, far from large at this time of day, and it was not long before she spotted him.

Matthew hadn't seen her, not yet, anyway, and Mary indulged herself in being able to observe him unabashedly without his notice. He was purposeful with his luggage, kind in his thanks to whoever had helped him with it. He nodded politely, motioning for a woman with a sleepy little child to go before him as he moved. And then his gaze was drawn upward, as if he knew, somehow, that he was being watched, and his face lit up with joy at seeing her there, for it had been a long time since she'd seen him off or met him at the station. Her heart tugged horribly and, although she felt guilt at deceiving him seeping into her, she couldn't help but smile back at Matthew. Strangely, seeing him now was the greatest comfort she could have imagined, although she reminded herself that she did not deserve it. All week she had dreaded this moment, and now it was upon her and she was filled with guilty happiness and relief. He smiled confidently, with nothing to hide. And for an instant, Mary felt severely sick, but then he greeted her, and it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

She smiled breathlessly. "Frozen," she answered, when he asked how she was, shivering in the evening wind.

Matthew chuckled and leaned over to kiss one cold cheek, and Mary's eyes closed for a moment as she inhaled his familiar smell. She exhaled shakily when he pulled away, and shook herself slightly, once again smiling widely.

"And everyone else, how have they been?" he asked.

Mary shrugged. "Henry has a cold, and you know how dramatic that makes him." They shared a laugh, and the pressure began to build rapidly inside Mary's chest -a need to tell him interwoven thickly with an intense fear of doing so.

Matthew watched her, the grey smoke of her breath mixing with air as she walked, and the slight redness to her nose from the winter wind. "You shouldn't be outside. You'll get a cold next," he chided, and Mary looked over at him. His kindness, his consideration, was crippling her.

She laughed quietly and rubbed her gloved hands together, then looked up at him from the corner of her eye. "I'm so glad you're home," she said as they walked off the platform, and she meant it. His presence had brought a strange, inexplicable calm to her troubled life.

Matthew turned to look at her again, at her pale face and shy smile. "It's good to be back." And he meant it.

He chuckled as they got into the car and pulled out of the station.

"What?" Mary asked curiously, shivering from the cold.

He laughed again. "I was thinking of the time Henry was ill when we were children."

Mary smiled. "When you both had the chicken pox?"

Matthew shook his head. "No," he inclined his head as if to acknowledge the amusing aspects of that time as well. "No, it was when he was sick with that wretched cough."

"I remember," Mary said, her eyes sparkling with the memory.

"We were horrible, weren't we? In teasing him."

Mary raised an eyebrow. "_Us_? If anyone could be described as 'horrible' in their teasing it would be my brother."

Matthew laughed in agreement, then sobered as he remembered something.

"It's dreadful what happened to that Turkish gentleman," he mused, and Mary stiffened, her playful manner dropped in an instant. He noticed, and looked at her in concern. "Do they know what caused it?"

Mary pursed her lips. She had been trying so hard to behave normally, and she immediately felt all her efforts die at Matthew's mention of Pamuk. "Dr. Clarkson said it must have been a heart attack," she said quietly. Matthew looked at her hands in her lap and saw that they trembled almost imperceptibly.

"Mary, are you alright?"

She widened her eyes at him. "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

"But you're-"

She looked out the window and smiled as Crawley House came into view. "Here we are!" she said brightly, and Matthew paused, wanting to say something else, then brushed aside her behaviour. It was a shock, and quite recent. There was reason for it to be upsetting. He promised to come to the big house for dinner that evening and climbed out of the car, smiling at her again as he left and the chauffeur fetched his luggage.

Breathing a sigh of relief as he walked into Crawley House to get settled and then dressed for dinner, Mary sat up in her seat, regaining some of her confidence after the initial hurdle of seeing him. If she could do this, she could very well make it through the rest of the evening.

* * *

Anna had noted a marked change in her mistress within the past week, made no attempt to enquire after Lady Mary's welfare as she had done in the first few days after the death of poor Mr. Pamuk, when Mary had seemed particularly shaken.

"You pick, Anna," Mary said quietly, glancing at herself in the mirror as Anna tied the final strings of her corset. She looked away. Mary thought of her younger self, and found that over the years some of her vanity had worn off. And, now, after what had happened, she felt no need to look in the mirror, entrusting Anna with the task of sending her downstairs in an acceptable state. But it did not derive from a renewed sense of confidence. Now there was no one to impress. She had no wish to draw attention to herself. For the first time in her life, Mary wanted to blend in and go unnoticed.

Anna dutifully went to pick a dress, not questioning Mary's almost silence demeanor. She returned with the one Mary had always liked best -the red- draped over one arm. Unbuttoning it, she gently turned her mistress to begin dressing her.

"No!" Mary exclaimed, shaking her head. Then she took a breath, calming herself, and looked at Anna, a sincere apology in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Anna," she said softly. "Not the red, please."

She couldn't wear red. Not now. Red was her eighteenth birthday. Red was the day she returned from France. Red was love.

Red was deceit.

Her maid brought black with hints of green, and Mary was dressed quickly. She patted one hair back in place before leaving to go downstairs and join the others. Anna looked on, watching Mary leave without a single piece of jewelry, but said nothing.

* * *

Mary had never been more grateful to have Henry as a sibling. Even with his cold that made his voice change and break, he was the entertainment for the evening. Sitting beside Matthew while Mary sat across from them, Henry kept him occupied with old jokes and asking after old friends from school. Mary listened, laughed, smiled, and joined in with the happy conversation. She hated doing so, but she could not deny herself the joy of seeing Matthew after three months apart, even though she knew it was only a matter of time before the perfect happiness would be extinguished. And even as guilt and shame flooded through her, she continued to smile and laugh with them after dinner just as they had always done.

Foolishly, Mary had spent years dawdling, denying what she felt for him. And, now, just when everything had fallen into place and she had finally let herself openly love him as more than a cousin and friend, she had ruined it. Again.

* * *

Matthew looked back to the front door after getting into the car with his mother, watching as Henry and Mary walked back inside after saying goodbye to them. The bright smile she had worn all evening faded slightly as she went back in. Henry was saying something, putting a hand on her shoulder, and Matthew saw Mary nod. He looked back to his mother.

"Did you notice anything odd about Mary tonight?"

Isobel looked up in confusion. "No, I don't think so," she said. "Why do you ask?"

Matthew shrugged. "She seemed strange, that's all." He paused. "Quieter."

Mary had been preoccupied, as if she were holding something back. And Henry, for all his jokes and stories, had curiously behaved in the same manner. After ten years of knowing each other, Matthew could sense that a shift had occurred. Something had happened that he wasn't privy to, something that was troubling both of his cousins greatly, and he knew it had to be more than the death of Mr. Pamuk.

"Mother, has something happened?" Matthew asked suddenly, and Isobel looked at him with concern.

"Matthew, what do you mean?" she asked in a soft tone.

He looked up at his home as it came into view, directly his attention out the window. "Nothing," he said. "Never mind."

* * *

It had taken everything in her power not to break at the dinner table as she sat across from him, to not hide from him afterwards, to kiss his cheek as she and Henry had said goodbye to Isobel and Matthew outside, and now Mary was utterly exhausted. She declined Henry's offer of another drink and went upstairs, back to the swirling red and white wallpapered room she had come to despise being in. Anna came quickly, and readied her mistress for bed in the same almost silent manner as before. Mary sat rigidly at her vanity table as her maid started removing the pins from her hair, her neck tensed, her shoulders tightly pushed back, and it was only when her hair fell down, tumbling in dark waves from its chignon that she broke. She leaned forward, resting her face in the palms of her hands, her elbows on the table, and she shook as barely-restrained sobs tore through her.

Mary felt Anna's gentle hand on her shoulder. "Milady?" she asked, although her voice bore no trace of surprise. She had known this would come, for it rarely did.

"Oh, Anna," Mary cried, shoulders still shaking, and Anna knelt next to her, hand still on Mary's arm.

"Milady, it's alright," she said, trying to soothe her mistress.

Mary laughed bitterly. "How can it be?" she said in broken gasps. "Oh God, I wish I didn't love him!"

Anna wrinkled her brow in confusion. It was unlike Lady Mary to be so open, and in the safety of her mistress' bedroom, Anna decided she could be open as well. "Mr. Crawley?"

Mary nodded. "That would make it easier to tell him, wouldn't it?"

Anna was at a loss, not having the faintest idea what her mistress was referring to, but knowing she must follow her lead. She was about to speak when Mary began to calm, drying her tears with her fingers. "It's easier to tell the truth to a stranger, isn't it?" Mary asked cryptically. Anna considered, then looked her mistress in the eye.

"Perhaps, but it's much harder to lie to someone you love, milady."

Mary looked at Anna for a moment, then nodded, brushing her hair over one shoulder. She smiled weakly. "You're right. You're always right," she said, and laughed at how silly she thought she was being. Anna, after ascertaining that Mary had truly recovered, stood up and, after a moment, resumed the task of braiding her hair. The moment of weakness, of fragility, had ended just as abruptly as it had started.

"You must think me rather foolish," Mary said as she continued to dab at her eyes, looking at Anna through the mirror. Anna only smiled, tied off her perfect braid with a blue ribbon, and put a soft hand on Mary's shoulder again.

"No, milady," she said with a smile. "Everyone needs a good cry."

* * *

For a week Henry had kept a close eye on his younger sister. He watched her decorate the tree with Carson, just as they had always done; he looked up from books to the sound of her voice planning the menu for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his mother, and couldn't for the life of him understand it.

He had always been more forward with his emotions than his sister, so it came as no surprise to him that she continued on as if nothing had happened. But how could she? Perhaps he was more sentimental than her, and felt things more acutely, but he didn't see how it was possible for her to go about planning menus and hanging ornaments when only seven days earlier she had been sobbing in his arms.

Spending hours in the library with his books and writing, Henry was able to escape the preparations for the holidays. Occasionally, he would make an appearance in the drawing room for tea, but Mary wouldn't speak to him, and he wouldn't speak to her. If their parents noticed, they said nothing, for each child behaved normally in every other regard.

Days passed, and Henry felt them grow further and further apart. In nineteen years they had never had any serious disagreements. They teased each other mercilessly, but it had never broken any tie between them. This new, strange coldness from his sister hurt Henry deeply.

So, when Mary walked into the library one afternoon and sighed deeply against the door before continuing on to the shelf where the book in her hands belonged, not noticing her brother hunched over his desk, her presence pained him.

The shuffling of papers dragged Mary's attention away from the spines she was perusing, in search of another novel to distract her. Turning around to find the source of the noise, she jumped.

"Henry!"

Her brother turned, seeing her holding her hand to her heart. He saw how startled she had been, and how, for a moment, her façade fell.

"Sorry," he said brusquely. He continued to look at her, watching as she stood up again, held her chin high, hardened her eyes. She turned and put her book back in its place quickly, determined that her brother not get the satisfaction of seeing that it was Dickens, and made towards the door again.

"Mary," Henry called quietly, and she turned. Her eyes were sharp and wide, but they softened as she found her hidden sadness mirrored in her brother's eyes. She took a step closer to him.

"How can you carry on as if nothing's happened?" he asked. Mary looked to the right for a moment, then at the floor. "How?" he asked again. When she finally raised her eyes, they shone, and her chin trembled. Henry stood up from his chair, immediately going to her, knowing in an instant that it was only when she was away from everyone else that she allowed her despair to show on the surface.

Mary made no move to reciprocate her brother's embrace as he drew her gently to him, and she did not cry, however much she might want to. All that she allowed was a small, dry cough against his chest to soothe the burn in the back of her throat from holding back tears. "You're not all right," Henry confirmed, then stepped back from her. Now her shoulders visibly relaxed, and he knew why she had sighed in relief against the door upon coming in the library. She was exhausted. Exhausted from having flung herself into the preparations for Christmas, exhausted from keeping her secret, exhausted from distancing herself from Henry, exhausted from pretending to be her old self when she was anything but.

She laughed, and Henry looked at her in surprise. "What?"

Dabbing at her eyes with her fingertips, Mary chuckled again. "I was just thinking today," she laughed again. Henry looked on with worry. "The odd thing is, Henry, that I felt, for the first time, really, what it is to be happy." Her eyes filled with tears again. "With Matthew. And now I know that I won't be."

Henry tilted his head to her. "Don't say that, Mary. You love each other. Surely that can be enough."

"I see. And what do you know of love?" She regretted it instantly. "I'm sorry, Henry, that was-"

He waved his hand in dismissal. "He'll be furious when you tell him, Mary, there's no getting around that." He chuckled himself. "He'll want to kill him, just like I did."

Mary nodded. She knew that much.

"But he'll be even more angry if you keep it from him," Henry said gently, his tone tentative and soft.

"Don't you think I know that!" Mary said sharply, resting one hand on her hip. "I couldn't bear the way he'd look at me."

Henry sighed. His sister's pride often ruled her actions. "Matthew knows you, darling. He won't think of you as anything less than you are. You know that."

She turned slightly, her hand coming up in the air in an incredulous gesture. "Oh Henry, don't you see? _You_ treat me differently because of it. _You_ see me differently, and I can't stand it! Telling Matthew would only make it more unbearable."

He sighed in exasperation. "What are you talking about, Mary? Nothing's changed between us!"

She laughed bitterly. "'_Nothing's changed'?_" She began to pace, wishing for a necklace to occupy her restless fingers. "You walk around all day moping, looking at me as if I'm a little fragile bird who can't fly."

"I don't understand-"

"I don't want your pity. I can hold myself up, you know. I've been capable of that since I was a little girl." And as if to prove her point, Mary straightened her back, fixed him with shining, imploring eyes. "I will tell Matthew when I'm ready, Henry."

She turned and walked away from him, back to the door of the library without looking back. Henry sat down again. He regretted ever having brought it up, now feeling as if he'd set even more pressure on his sister's shoulders. He hadn't meant to, just to encourage her again that prolonging her own suffering in order to save Matthew learning what had happened wasn't worth it. But now he feared he had merely reminded her of her troubles, and he was sorry for it.

* * *

**Part II**

"Oh, my dear, they're lovely!" Cora gushed, looking to her daughter as she unwrapped a pair of beautiful, deep purple gloves on Christmas Day. Mary looked up from where she sat with her grandmother on the sofa and smiled.

"I wondered what colour..."

Cora shook her head. "No, they're beautiful, Mary. I love them." She peered into Mary's lap and saw a green bag with a gold bow. Mary hadn't touched it.

"Go on," Matthew said, leaning against the mantle.

"I am!" she insisted, and carefully untied the bow, shifting the tissue paper in the bag and pulling out a large, thin yellow book. Mary looked at Matthew with a soft, touched look and he nodded slightly in return.

"What is it, Mary?" Violet asked curiously. Her granddaughter set the book down in her lap for her grandmother to see.

"You don't already have it, do you?" Matthew asked suddenly, but Mary shook her head.

"No, I don't." Her voice was gentle. She ran long fingers over the music books and stood up, setting them down and going to the tree, picking up her own gift to Matthew and bringing it to him.

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

"Will you play it?" he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. "Goodness, you think me more of a musician than I am!"

He chuckled wryly. "I didn't mean today."

Later that evening, however, when the men rejoined the women in the drawing room Matthew heard the hesitant, unpracticed notes of the new pieces drifting through from the adjoining music room.

"Thank God," Henry said, pouring himself another drink. "I was getting tired of what she's played lately." He was only teasing, as usual. Henry had always been fond his sister's music.

Matthew glanced towards the music room and his cousin chuckled. "Go on, then. And bring her back so she can play chess after you lose."

Matthew laughed, received a friendly pat on the back from a very happy Henry, and then crossed the floor to the small music room.

* * *

The light from the lamp cast a soft glow over the room. For a moment, as Mary continued to play, strange shadows passed over her face, hardening it. Matthew blinked, and they were gone, just her concentrated expression and the way she bit her lip as she played. Then she looked up, saw him, and stopped.

"I'll have to practice before it sounds anything like it should," she said, shrugging her shoulders. The room, which had always been somewhat of a safe haven for her, suddenly seemed much too small, and very hot. When she had been alone with Anna she had cried, she had almost cried in the quiet of the library, and now she was alone with Matthew, and she felt panic rise in her chest.

"It sounded beautiful," Matthew said, and Mary rolled her eyes (that she could do quite easily).

"Don't placate me," she said lightly, and stood up from the piano bench, feeling the need to escape.

"I miss your playing at school," Matthew said as she stood, and she flashed what she hoped was a touched look his way. "It's nice to hear it when I'm home."

"I'm afraid your opinion would be changed if you lived with it all day," Mary said with a tilt of her head.

He smiled. "Do you play all day?" he asked quietly.

Mary shrugged, and her breath caught as she realized just how close they were. Her hands felt hot in her gloves. "Sometimes," she said in an even softer tone.

Matthew looked up above them and then back at her. "There's mistletoe..."

"No, there isn't," she said, her heart beating faster than any melody she could ever play. He laughed.

"You're no fun."

She shrugged at that and laughed nervously, her entire being aching to throw itself into his arms. And then it did.

Mary was sure it had been her, and Matthew was sure it had been him, but all at once they came together. The space between them had not been large to begin with, and their bodies seemed to melt into the other. The kiss was not hurried. In fact, it was rather reverent, for both of their heads were spinning.

The burning in her throat returned, and it took all the strength Mary possessed to hold back a dry sob at what this meant. As his hands lightly found her back she reached hers up to his shoulders, then to cup his cheek, feeling the place just before his ear and running her index finger over it. They pushed closer together, and Mary's eyes opened as his tongue tentatively touched hers. Memories of another kiss, a horrible and unwanted kiss in this very room, brought Mary harshly back to reality. This kiss would be their last.

Matthew suddenly felt Mary pull at his lapels, whimpering into his mouth, and he smiled against her lips. He had known for some time, really, what she meant to him. Mary was his sun, bright and guiding, if not a little too blinding at times. For she would never be a planet. She would not revolve around anyone.

But he found himself hopelessly revolving around her. In the past months Matthew had realized something, something he very nearly laughed over -he had been in love with Mary for far longer than he originally thought. In fact, he was able to trace it back clearly in his mind, straight to the moment he had fallen for her.

He had been eleven. They were children, but there was something about that first curtsy, the initial detachment, and then the warmth of her friendship that had made him love her, even as a boy. Matthew recalled vividly the dainty pink of the dress she had been wearing when they were introduced, and now his fingers brushed over the cream and gold of the one she wore and he knew it with unwavering certainty. He felt her pulling away from him and they parted.

_Mary_. There she was, her eyes shining, her lips red, her eyes dark, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt what their kiss had meant. He was sure, now, that this was the woman he would marry. He wasn't sure there had ever been an alternative.

He wanted to be able to kiss her for the rest of his life.

* * *

_A/N: So many thank you's need to go out for this chapter! I'm not sure I can even remember everyone who helped me, but you all know who you are! Thank you to people on Tumblr for sending me writing prompts, and for people encouraging me as I complained endlessly about not being able to write. Finally, done with this chapter! What do you think? _

_P.S. Who caught the allusion in the beginning? _


	14. Chapter 14

**Yours Forever: Chapter XIV**

The New Year came and went, and both Mary and Henry were relieved when Matthew returned to school after the Christmas holiday. Their relief was accompanied with guilt, for they both felt they were deceiving him horribly. Henry didn't push Mary to tell Matthew anymore. He saw how, as the weeks passed, the burden she carried seemed to become less obvious to an outside eye. She was able to act as she had before, although a coolness seemed to have settled over her character. Her brother saw this altered version of her and had to resist the urge to repeatedly tell Mary that she had done nothing wrong, that none of it was her fault, that Matthew would be furious the longer she waited to tell him. But he saw her, sometimes, sitting at the bench out under her favorite tree, a book beside her, untouched, because it couldn't distract her. She would lift her head, looking out over the Spring lawn, breeze playing with her hair beneath her hat, and Henry knew she was thinking about it. It was moments like these that made him want to draw her into his arms as he had done when she was a little girl, crying about something, because then she hadn't been afraid of showing her pain. He saw all this from his desk at the library, and so when she came indoors he would attempt to bring her attention away from what had happened, discussing books with her, making her sit so he could practice his drawing, which made her laugh. Oh, how he cherished her laughter!

His birthday passed, and then hers, and Matthew graduated from school. Their summer began with rumors of war and it kept them all quite occupied, especially interesting Matthew, who was the most political of the three of them. They dissected headlines, listened to the wireless in the library, and in this way it was easier for Henry and Mary to not think about the fact that Matthew knew nothing of their real troubles. He had asked, after seeing the blood drain from Mary's face at the mention of the hunt last December, and the subject of poor Mr. Pamuk brought back to light.

"Are you all right?" he had said quietly as they all retired to the drawing room. "You're pale."

But Mary had shook her head. "Of course! But I'm sure there are more interesting things to speak about!"

Henry had quickly changed the subject.

* * *

August, 1914

It was a soft night, a night that could muddle thoughts with its velvet orange sunset and stars alone, but Henry brought champagne as always. Glasses dangled from between Matthew's fingers, clinking as they walked across the lawn towards the pillared,stone temple at the far edge. Mary dragged behind them, arms running over each other in an effort to warm her, although she wasn't really cold. It was the night before the Garden Party, and after a week of increasingly worrisome news in the papers, they had decided to relive their summer tradition.

In the half-rose light Mary's gold dress with its beading glowed, her skin pale and bright in the gently sinking darkness. Matthew set the glasses down on the white stone as they reached the temple, and they clinked again. Henry was kicking off his shoes, always slightly improper, and coming back to splash delicate alcohol into their three waiting glasses. Mary watched them, how the setting sun bounced off the glass and lit up the liquid contained within them. She drank hers quickly, hearing her brother's chuckle as she did so.

It was cooler now, as Mary perched on the edge of one side of the temple and cradled the precious nectar, obscurer of memory, between ungloved, cold hands, watching as the sun sunk low and the light faded. She heard murmured conversation from beside her, but didn't pay attention to it. Not when there was this shadow, early midsummer night, the sort of shadowy evening that made everything slower, softer, and more meaningful.

She reached down and unbuckled her own shoes, letting them fall to the lush green earth with a gentle thud, hearing the swish of cotton as the boys took off their jackets. Only they weren't boys anymore, and she wasn't a girl. They were adults now, in the real, bright world. But here, in this darkness they all shared a love of, they were those boys and that girl again. The boys with untucked shirts and wet hair, the girl with muddy feet and scratched arms being scolded as they appeared out from the trees and shrubs not far from this very spot. They were the children who played badminton outside in the springtime, Henry beating the other two mercilessly. They were the children with tired eyes and happy drunk smiles of past summers, and now they were the children drowning themselves again in the sparkles of champagne, hiding from their increasingly complicated lives, from the secrets they kept from each other, and from the fear of a coming war.

"What are you thinking, Mary?" Henry's low, playful voice sounded quietly from beside her. She held out her glass again and her brother raised his eyebrows before splashing a modest amount into it.

"Of how young we once were, I suppose."

Alcohol made her melancholy and nostalgic. It made Henry happy and confident. "Come over here, don't sit over there all alone," he said from where he and Matthew sat. Mary had isolated herself from them, sitting on a rectangular strip of stone protruding outwards from the temple while they slouched on the steps. She shook her head and stared back at the open sky as the small pinpricks of stars began to peek out from the navy and red, moonlight caressing her cheeks. She forgot about time and place, perhaps on purpose, hearing Henry's goading from behind her, his teasing suddenly painful. Her chest constricted and she finished her glass. Then her brother was at her feet below her, beckoning, teasing her again as if she were a little girl, and she again refused to come down. But he swooped her off the stone and into his arms, laughing as he carried her back to sit with them. Mary struggled against him, memories of another repeated refusal still fresh in her mind, and he was forced to put her down, oblivious to her ghosts. She rushed unthinkingly to the comfort of the cold, solid stone step next to Matthew and found herself leaning into him, her body crying out for the reassurance of his unknowing arm around her as Henry rejoined them. It was truly dark now, stars with their fake wishes mocking Mary from high above, and she buried her face in Matthew's neck and shoulder, hiding from the illumination of the moon.

She wasn't so much drunk as she was suddenly overwhelmed and heartbroken, her whole body aching, and she knew exactly what she was asking him as Henry joked about something in the background.

"Kiss me," she said softly, leaning up to him, and Matthew obliged with a laugh, a quick chaste kiss.

"Not like that," Mary said tiredly, exhausted from concealing, from keeping things, from pretending. She pulled Matthew back and drew his lips back to hers, leading their dance, cuping the back of his head with one hand and resting the other on his chest, begging for closeness, wanting to cleanse herself somehow. Deaf and desperate, she opened her mouth to him, heart swelling and contracting guiltily, then thrilling as she caressed his tongue with hers. Mary resisted his gentle push, then a firmer one against her shoulders until they parted. Their lips were bruised, and Matthew was blushing slightly, his voice chiding as he said "Mary," almost in embarrassment. She looked to where his eyes kept darting, seeing Henry standing there, not able to hide his disbelief and heartbreak at the sight. He knew exactly why his sister had pulled Matthew to her with such strength and power, and why she had demanded his kiss.

Mary felt a hand run over her back. "Mary," he said again in that same infuriatingly caring voice. And she suddenly realized she was crying. It wasn't beautiful or appropriate. Her tears were raw, a pure release of pain. She was blind through the salt, and stood on weak legs, stumbling out of Matthew's soft strokes along her back, past Henry who called after her, running back to the house.

The two of them watched her disappear into the night, and when Henry looked back at Matthew he didn't see the confusion and concern that usually accompanied her increasingly strange behaviour. He saw fear.

This time when Matthew looked up at Henry his tone was dark, serious, and left no room for excuses.

"What happened?"

* * *

Anna was still ignorant of Mary's situation, but had come to understand on some level her mistress' pain. In the morning she wiped the tracks of last night's tears from Mary's cheeks with a warm cloth, gently covered the shadows under her eyes with powder, and brushed through Mary's hair with a gentleness unique to Anna. Mary, for her part, savoured the silence, moving as slowly as possible to prolong her solitude as she heard the servants already preparing the tents outside on the lawn for the Garden Party that afternoon.

She wore white with navy stripes and felt exposed with her arms bare, but went down for breakfast all the same, already schooling her expression to one of contentment and cool detachment. Joining Henry and her father at the table after helping herself to fruit and croissants, Mary discussed the paper's headlines with them as usual, ignoring Henry's purposely averted eyes. She was furious at revealing her emotions so dramatically the night before, and wouldn't look at him.

The weather was cool for August, a slight breeze blowing Mary's thin dress against her legs as she welcomed guests with her mother. She saw her old friends with their new husbands or young children and smiled, greeting them fondly, yet inside she felt so much older than them. Her life made her weary and each passing day made her increasingly exhausted.

Henry was going to get lemonade for a giggling Eleanor Wilcox (didn't he know she was only after his title?) as Mary moved past him, and again he ignored her presence, almost as if it would be painful to look at her. Again she was grateful for it. It was easier this way.

She saw Matthew pacing under the trees by the bench she frequented. He had isolated himself from the party there, something Mary wished she could have done, and looked up as she moved cautiously toward him. He made a small scoffing noise, and ice suddenly rushed through Mary's veins, goosebumps racing along her arms.

"Matthew?" she asked as she reached him, looking behind her to find that they were relatively hidden from the rest of the party. He didn't speak to her, and Mary swallowed before addressing him again in a calmer, steadier tone. "Matthew? What is it?"

He turned to her, seeing her shivering slightly in the shade cast down by the trees and made that scoffing noise again, a bitter smile crossing his lips.

"I've tried, Mary, really I have. I've tried to understand you."

Mary hung her head, then looked up as his bitter smile turned into heartbroken disbelief.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Her voice quivered, but she couldn't help it, not when she feared she already knew the answer to her question. "Who told you?"

Matthew's hands hit his sides. "Henry!"

A dry, fractured sob tore through Mary then. Matthew knew her secret, and he had learnt of it from the person Mary trusted most in the world. She didn't cry.

"I knew you would despise me when you knew of it," she choked out. "And that I really could not bear."

He looked at her in confusion. "Despise you?" he asked incredulously. "I never _could_ despise you. But Mary, do you realize how much I-" He coughed, and she knew instantly the two words he had censored from her.

The wind blew and ruffled her dress. She was cold.

"Matthew, I-"

He fixed her with that same bitter smile. "I was going to ask you to be my wife someday, Mary, and I think a marriage should be based on trust."

His admission brought tears to Mary's eyes. "Marriage?" she gasped.

Matthew nodded sadly. "Of course. Who else would I have married? It was always you, Mary," he said softly. "Always."

"Oh, Matthew," Mary said in just as soft a tone. "Of course I trust you."

"You wouldn't tell me!" Matthew cried in distress.

"I couldn't!" Mary cried. "I was too-"

"Did you think my reaction would have been anything other than concern for you and anger at him?"

Mary shook her head, keeping her tears at bay. "I didn't know. I would have told you. I needed time."

Matthew ran a hand over his forehead. "It happened before I came back from school, and you acted as if nothing were wrong when it all was." There it was again, that heartbroken look, clouded with anger and betrayal. "God, Mary. I could have helped you."

This was it, Mary thought to herself. This was the ground between them splitting in two. Now was when the break could not be mended. She didn't want it to happen. She was willing to pray against the earthquake.

"But maybe it's better we stop now before we go any further," Matthew continued. "We obviously aren't ready."

There, he had said it. Exactly what she knew he would. Exactly what she had been terrified of since their first unsure kiss, since they had decided to be more to each other than childhood friends, since they had begun to really love each other and profess it openly. Their love had cursed them.

"No, please, don't!" Mary shook her head and fought the urge to move towards him.

"Why, Mary? Tell me why!" he countered, and she knew from the breaking of his voice that this was just as hard and painful for him as it was for her. "Why should I lend my heart to someone who doesn't trust me with the most important event in her life?"

Mary bit her lip in frustration and clenched her hands into fists at her sides. "Because I love you!" she cried, and when their eyes met both were swimming with tears.

She had only said it once before. Only once, and Matthew would cherish those hushed, shy words forever. Now he looked past her and then at the ground, miserably kicking at something invisible there, refusing to look back at her. "It's a bit late for all of that, don't you think?"

And Mary broke again as she felt the air shift when he walked by her. She cried softly into her gloved hand and didn't turn around. She couldn't go back now, not with a tear stained face and a shattered heart, and she couldn't bear to turn and watch him walk further and further away from her. But she couldn't stay there forever.

* * *

Dusk settled, and the lower light was a comfort as Mary moved through the slowly emptying tent, its canvas billowing like sails in the night wind. She smiled as she passed guests waving goodbye, wishing them a safe journey home, trying to mask her pain and anger. Her whole world was crumbling, and there was nothing to do but smile and act as if everything was as it should be. There was a building torrent of fury and sorrow inside Mary that made her feel heavier with each step. From childhood she and Henry had been the best of friends. He had teased her, made her cry, ruffled her hair, and made fun of her dresses, but they had always made up. A knock on her door at night meant hot chocolate and a sincere apology. As a little girl Henry had been her hero, and she looked up to him, seeking his approval in almost everything she did.

_Look, Henry, I drew you a picture!_

_I only took it because _you _were reading Dickens!_

_Did you like that piece? I've only just started learning it..._

_Teach me to swim! It's not fair that you can and I can't._

Mary's throat felt tight and she cursed the rising urge to cry. As she passed some of the servants she saw Carson turn and look at her in concern and knew their stoic butler was silently debating asking Mary if anything was wrong. But she quickly looked away. She didn't have time to be comforted or questioned. For now, she had to find Henry.

She located him by a tall, ancient tree, a giggling Eleanor Wilcox leaning into his side, and resisted the urge to yell at the girl. Eleanor looked up and straightened as she saw Mary approaching, a cold, hard look in her eye. Henry felt her tense and drew his eyes up as well, his head leaning back slightly against the tree and his heart sinking horribly.

"Could you leave us, please?" Mary asked, although it was less of a question and more of an icy demand, the "please" harsh in tone. Ms. Wilcox stumbled, her punch spilling as she rushed away, and Mary almost laughed as she went, eyes wide with fear and cheeks red with embarrassment. She deserved it.

"How could you?" Mary asked softly, looking at him in utter disbelief.

He straightened but maintained a careful distance. This was a Mary he hadn't ever seen before. She stood there stiffly, concealing her broken self behind thick walls that he had never been on the other side of in all his life.

He gestured to her. "You weren't going to tell him." His tone was mildly accusatory. He resented it as soon as the words left his mouth.

"Of course I was!" Mary cried, her voice bitter.

Henry shook his head. "It's been eight months, Mary. I only did what-"

"You _betrayed_ me! After everything we've been through, you told him!"

Betrayal. The word cut through Henry, slicing him open, his faults all brightly illuminated in that instant.

"Mary-"

His sister shook her head, her eyes swimming with tears before she wiped at them angrily with her gloved hands. "If you think I will ever forget what you have done then you're dreaming," she said, then looked at him with a bitter smile. "What have I done for you, Henry? Kept silent while you stay in the library all day doing God knows what? Papa is trying to prepare you for the day when this will be your house and you treat it as a trivial obligation-"

"I'm sorry, Mary, but you don't understand-"

She cut him off again. "I don't have to understand. I don't want to understand, Henry. It's high time you recognized your own responsibilities and stopped meddling in my affairs!"

He reached out to her while her arm was still angrily extended, palm upward for emphasis, and their fingers brushed before she quickly drew it in. "Please, Mary, let me explain," he begged, and his twin dark eyes stung as he watched her step back from him.

Mary fixed him with an icy stare. Behind it, and in her eyes Henry saw her pain, her dreadfully broken heart, and he knew he was the source of it. He was the one who had broken her. He had ruined everything.

"I don't want to speak to you again," Mary said in a firm yet slightly weary tone. And she turned, ignoring his call for her to come back, and walked back to the tent to do her duty, saying goodbyes with her mother, before going upstairs again.

But Henry couldn't do as she did. He couldn't go on knowing that she was, once again, heartbroken. Only this time he had been the cause of it. It was his fault. They had always been friends. Oh, he had mocked and teased her during their childhood, but the truth was that he looked up to her more than anyone in the world.

Henry remembered her as a baby, taking her first steps and falling into his arms, and how fiercely proud of her he had been. The pride in having Mary as a sister had never left him. He remembered how proud he had been listening to her play and sing beautifully even as a child. He had been astonished at her beauty and grace on the night of her debut, thinking _That's _my_ sister, _and giving his friends sharp looks when they danced with her. And he had been more proud of her than ever before in the past months, since that December night which he feared might have destroyed her. She had remained his strong, brave sister. But now...

_I don't want to speak to you again._

Her words hung in the air in front of him as Henry watched her go, and he wished she would come back, or that she would let him explain. He hadn't wanted to tell him, but it had been eight months, and he and Mary's deception of poor Matthew had made Henry sick. It had been months of forced smiles, all the while knowing that Matthew was oblivious to the secret that bound Henry and Mary together. It had been horrible and stressful.

_"What happened?"_

_Henry looked to the low sweep of the tree under which Mary had disappeared. He thought of all the time Mary had spent, acting as if nothing had happened, internally tortured with the idea of telling Matthew._

_"You'll have to ask her."_

_"She won't tell me," Matthew said sadly, shaking his head. "I thought we were past all of that, but she won't tell me what's wrong."_

_Henry set down his glass. It made a light clink against the stone. He inhaled deeply and looked up to Mary's window, the lamp lit, vague shadows crossing behind the curtains, then turned to Matthew. "Do you remember the Turk that came to Downton for the hunt in December?"_

_His cousin frowned. "Wasn't he the one who died in his bed?"_

_Henry nodded. "He didn't...die in his bed," he said. And when Matthew looked at him in confusion he closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. "He died in Mary's bed."_

_Immediately Matthew tensed and made to stand up. "What?"_

_Henry stopped him from standing, then their eyes met. Henry had never said it out loud before, didn't know how best to phrase it, wanting to soften the blow for him, somehow. "He forced her, Matthew."_

_He wondered for a moment if Matthew had understood what me meant, for his cousin's face had frozen completely. But then it changed, and Matthew's jaw locked, he glanced at the ground and then at his knees, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists._

_"I can't believe she didn't tell me," Matthew said in a shaking, wounded voice. "Why wouldn't she tell me?" he asked, looking to Henry._

Henry kicked at the ground, refusing, like his sister, to cry. He knew that this time was different. Mary wouldn't forgive him easily, if ever. She would have forgiven him in a heartbeat, if it had been something little and trivial. But it wasn't, and Henry knew she wouldn't speak to him again until they made up. He looked back up to the house and thought of his sister, probably already in her room, away from it all. And he thought of Matthew, probably in his room at Crawley House, pacing as he always did when he was hurt and angry. Knowing he had single-handedly driven them apart tore at his heart. After everything, after all the obstacles that had kept them apart for years, he had ruined it irrevocably. Another mistake, revealing how much of a child he still was. So Henry looked back up at the house, then down the hill to Crawley House, coming to an important decision. Mary was right, it was time for him to grow up. He would make it his mission to bring them together again, not resting until he could somehow mend what he had broken. They deserved happiness, while he did not. He had no right to, anymore. This was his fault, and he would fight any battle to see them together and happy once more.

* * *

Inside, Mary shut the front door behind her and stepped into the front hall. She was the first to return from the party, and the house was eerily still, with only the whispered rustle of her skirts and the small click of her heels on the parquet. A noise caused her to look up from the ground as she moved, and when she glanced to her right Mary saw Carson carefully moving through the house, making sure everything was still in order, no doubt. She stopped, and he looked up to see her standing there, her eyes red, and shoulders stiff, her hand quivering at her side.

"Milady," he asked, tilting his head. "Are you quite well?"

Mary nodded, suddenly recalling a memory of him asking her the same question in this same spot many years ago. She had been four years old and, having tripped down the last stair, sat on the cold parquet with her leg outstretched, a bruise already forming on her small knee.

"_Are you quite well, milady?"_

_Little Mary had looked up at the kind butler, lower lip trembling, before she burst into tears and clutched at her leg. And Carson had bent down to her level, examining her knee before he diagnosed her with a nasty bruise. Her cries subsided, turning to hiccups as she kept looking at him._

_"Now then, let's see if you're good on your feet," he said, taking her small hands in his large ones and pulling her up._

Carson looked at Lady Mary now, all grown up, standing there with a broken heart, and he saw the little girl again in her. Her nod turned into her head shaking sadly, tears again coming to her eyes. She felt like that four year old version of herself, bruised after falling.

"Of course," she said stoically. "You know me, Carson. I'm never down for long."

He didn't know what had happened, only that she was crying, and he hadn't seen her cry in over fifteen years. She wilted at his look, and didn't resist as he took a step closer to her and drew her into his arms. There she cried softly, knowing she didn't need to explain why. The warmness of his embrace was enough to make her feel safe. She could feel steady on her feet again.

* * *

Mary went to bed early, but she didn't rest for long before there was a small knock at her door.

"Who is it?" Mary asked tiredly as she stood up from her bed and moved towards the door to unlock it.

"Anna, milady," came the soft reply, and Mary unlocked the door immediately, suddenly wanting nothing more than the comfort of her friend.

"What is it?" Mary asked, seeing the look on her maid's face.

Anna bit her lip. "His Lordship would like you to come downstairs," she said, and Mary nodded as Anna went for her dressing gown.

They descended the staircase silently, and as Mary neared the foot of the stairs she saw that Henry was already there. Their parents were still dressed and had been curious as to why Mary had retired even before dinner, but Lord Grantham held a telegram and had a grave look on his face. On another day Mary would have glanced at Henry briefly as if to ask him if he knew what was wrong, but she completely ignored his presence, and looked instead to her father.

"Papa, what is it?" she asked, her voice raspy.

Her father looked up back at her, then at Henry. Cora's arm went through his. "We are at war with Germany."

* * *

_Much needed A/N: First of all, big thank you to Cls2011 for her support, as always. Sooooooo this chapter and turning point was planned from the beginning, and it hurts so good. Definitely different from canon. There's obviously three different sides you could take in this chapter. Mary's very tortured and sad so our sympathy goes out to her, but she also waited a bit too long to tell Matthew (he certainly thinks so, as does Henry), and I think I agree with the "boys". Matthew, who's been unaware of what happened for SO LONG now, is more hurt than he would have been had Mary told him sooner, I think. He's very understanding and patient with her through their past ups and downs, but I think this definitely wounded him a lot and he would have kind of lashed out at her. Of course, he wants to comfort Mary, but he thinks that if she prolonged not telling him, she didn't want his comfort, and she didn't feel that she needed him, or something like that. So Matthew's side makes sense, as well. And then poor Henry. He definitely didn't mean to _hurt _Mary by telling Matthew. He loves her too much. But he's a bit more fragile than her when it comes to his emotions. He shows them more easily, so keeping that secret from Matthew (who he sees more as a brother than a cousin) would be really hard. And, when you think about it, it's not JUST Mary's secret. It affected him a lot knowing what had happened to her, carrying a corpse from his younger sister's room, and not being able to have any revenge. So, when Matthew asks him, there's a moment where he hesitates, but then he comes to the conclusion that Mary will wait much longer to tell Matthew, and he tells him. He doesn't have Mary's ability to act relatively normally knowing what's happened. And then the attempt to ignore her at breakfast and at the Garden Party is because he already realizes what he did was wrong, and he regrets it._

_Also, I realize this chapter was primarily from Mary and Henry's POV, but in the next chapter it will be more of Matthew and Mary. _

_This is soooo long already but I felt it was necessary to kind of explain everyone before we continue. This chapter was really angsty, and I can't promise anything exciting or uplifting, really, in the next chapter. BUT just trust me. It's all going to be okay. If you want to get angry about this chapter or just talk to me in general haha you can go to my tumblr which is .com I'm FURIOUS because 'oiseaus' is TAKEN (how? it's not even the correct spelling!) and hasn't been updated since 2011 so I had to use lamarrant but ANYWAY there I am if you want to find me. This has been a novel. _


End file.
